He  took  her  In  his  powerful  arms  and  drew  her  to  his  hreast 


The  Night- Riders 


A  Ro?nance  of  Early  MorJana 


With   Three  Illustrations  in  Colors 
By  H,  /.    SOULEN 


By   RIDGWELIv   CULLUM 

Author  of  ''The  Watchers  of  the  Plains," 

"The  Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,"    "The  Trail  of 

the  Axe,"  Etc. 


A.    L.    BURT   COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1 9 13,  by 

George  W.  Jacobs  &  Companv 

Published  February^  ^9^3 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  U.S.  A. 


Contents 


I. 

II. 
HI. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 


In  the  Hands  of  the  Phiustines 

Mosquito  Bend  . 

The  Blind  Man  . 

The  Night-Riders 

Tresler  Begins  His  Education 

The  Killing  of  Manson  Orr 

Which  Deals  with  the  Matter  of  Drink 

Joe  Nelson  Indulges  in  a  Little  Match- 
making 


Tresler  Involves  Himself  Further  ;  the 
Lady  Jezebel  in  a  Freakish  Mood 

A  Wild  Ride 

The  Trail  of  the  Night-Riders 

The  Rising  of  a  Summer  Storm 

The  Bearding  of  Jake 

A  Portentous  Interview 

At  Willow  Bluff 

What  Love  Will  Do 

The  Lighted  Lamp     . 

The  Renunciation 

Hot  Upon  the  Trail 


Mtiodrii. 


6  CONTENTS 

XX.  By  the  Light  of  the  Lamp         .        .        .     349 

XXL  At  Widow  Dangley's         ....     364 

XXII.  The  Pursuit  of  Red  Mask  .        ,        .381 

XXIII.  A  Return  to  the  Land  of  the  Philistines     395 

XXIV.  Arizona.        •        •        e,        ,        <>        *        412 


Illustrations 


He  Took  Her  in  His  Powerful  Arms  and  Drew  Her 

to  His  Breast  ....     Frontispiece 

4 

A  Moment  Later  He  Beheld  Two  Horsemen   . 

Facing  page       74 

Left  Alone  with  her  Patient,  She  had  Little  to  Do 

but  Reflect  ....       Facing  page     302 


The  Night-Riders 

CHAPTER  I 

IN   THE   HANDS   OF  THE  PHILISTINES 

Forks  Settlement  no  longer  occupies  its  place 
upon  the  ordnance  map  of  the  state  of  Montana  At 
least  not  the  Forks  Settlement — the  one  which  nestled 
in  a  hollow  on  the  plains,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  It  is  curious  how  these  little  places 
do  contrive  to  slip  off  the  map  in  the  course  of  time. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  they  do,  and  are  wholly  for- 
gotten, except,  perhaps,  by  those  who  actually  lived  or 
visited  there.  It  is  this  way  with  all  growing  countries, 
and  anywhere  from  twenty  to  thirty  years  ago  Mon- 
tana was  distinctly  a  new  country. 

It  was  about  '85  that  Forks  Settlement  enjoyed  the 
height  of  its  prosperity — a  prosperity  based  on  the  sup- 
ply of  dry-goods  and  machinery  to  a  widely  scattered 
and  sparse  population  of  small  ranchers  and  farmers. 
These  things  brought  it  into  existence  and  kept  it  afloat 
for  some  years.  Then  it  gradually  faded  from  exist- 
ence— just  as  such  places  do. 

When  John  Tresler  rode  into  Forks  he  wondered 
what  rural  retreat  he  had  chanced  upon.  He  didn^t 
wonder  in  those  w^ords,  his  language  was  much  more 
derogatory  to  the  place  than  that. 


12  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

*•  Guess  Carney  takes,  most  any  thin',''  came  the  easy 
reply. 

The  door  of  the  hotel  opened  and  two  men  came  out, 
eyeing  the  newcomer  and  his  horse  critically.  Then 
ihey  propped  themselves  in  leisurely  fashion  against 
the  door-casing,  and  chewed  silently,  while  they  gazed 
abroad  with  marked  unconcern. 

Tresler  hazarded  another  question.  He  felt  strange 
in  this  company.  It  was  his  first  real  acquaintance 
v/ith  a  prairie  settlement,  and  he  didn't  quite  know 
what  to  expect 

'*  I  wonder  if  there  is  any  one  to  see  to  my  horse," 
he  said  with  some  hesitation. 

''  Hitch  him  to  the  tie-post  an'  ast  inther',"  observed 
the  uncommunicative  man,  pointing  to  a  post  a  few 
yards  from  the  door,  but  without  losing  interest  in  the 
other's  nether  garments. 

"  That  sounds  reasonable." 

Tresler  moved  off  and  secured  his  horse  and  loosened 
the  saddle-girths. 

**  Pardon  me,  sir,"  he  said,  when  he  came  back,  his 
well-trimmed  six  feet  towering  over  the  other's  five  feet 
four.  "  Might  I  ask  whom  I  have  the  pleasure  of  ad- 
dressing ?  My  name  is  John  Tresler ;  I  am  on  my 
v/ay  to  Mosquito  Bend,  Julian  Marbolt's  ranch.  A 
stranger,  you  see,  in  a  strange  land.  No  doubt  you 
have  observed  that  already,"  he  finished  up  good- 
naturedly. 

But  the  other's  attention  was  not  to  be  diverted  from 
the  interesting  spectacle  of  the  corduroys,  and  he  an- 
swered without  shifting  his  gaze. 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PHILISTINES       13 

•*  My  name's  Ranks— gener'ly  called  *  Slum.' 
Howdy." 

"Well,  Mr.  Ranks " 

''Gener'ly  called  '  Slum,'  "  interrupted  the  other. 

"  Mr.  Slum,  then "     Tresler  smiled. 

''Slum!" 

The  man's  emphasis  was  marked.  There  was  no 
cheating  him  of  his  due.  "  Slum  "  was  his  sobriquet 
by  the  courtesy  of  prairie  custom.  "  Ranks "  was 
purely  a  paternal  heirloom  and  of  no  consequence  at  all. 

"  Well,  Slum,"  Tresler  laughed,  "  suppose  we  go 
and  sample  Carney's  refreshments.  I'm  tired,  and 
possess  a  thirst." 

He  stepped  toward  the  doorway  and  looked  back. 
Mr.  Ranks  had  not  moved.  Only  his  wondering  eyes 
had  followed  the  other's  movements. 

"Won't  you  join  me?"  Tresler  asked.  Then, 
noting  the  fixed  stare  in  the  man's  eyes,  he  went  on 
with  some  impadence,  "What  the  dickens  are  you 
staring  at?"  And,  in  self-defense,  he  was  forced  into 
a  survey  of  his  ow^n  riding-breeches. 

Slum  looked  up.  A  twinkle  of  amusement  shone 
beneath  his  heavy  brows,  while  a  broad  grin  parted  the 
hair  on  his  face. 

"  Oh,  jest  nothin',"  he  said  amiably.  "  I  wer'  kind 
o'  figgerin'  out  what  sort  of  a  feller  them  pants  o'  yours 
wus  made  for."  He  doused  the  brown  earth  at  his 
feet  wdth  tobacco  juice.  Then  shaking  his  head 
thoughtfully,  a  look  of  solemn  wonder  replaced  the 
grin.  "  Say,"  he  added,  "but  he  must  'a'  bin  a  dandy 
chunk  of  a  man." 


14  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Tresler  was  about  to  reply.  But  a  glance  at  Mr 
Ranks,  and  an  audible  snigger  coming  from  the  door- 
way, suddenly  changed  his  mind.  He  swung  round 
to  face  a  howl  of  laughter  ;  and  he  understood. 

*'  The  drinks  are  on  me,"  he  said  with  some  chagrin. 
''  Come  on,  all  of  you.     Yes,  I'm  a  '  tenderfoot.'  " 

And  it  was  the  geniality  of  his  reply  that  won  him  a 
place  in  the  society  of  Forks  Settlement  at  once.  In 
five  minutes  his  horse  was  stabled  and  cared  for.  In 
five  minutes  he  was  addressing  the  occupants  of  the 
saloon  by  their  familiar  nicknames.  In  five  minutes 
he  was  paying  for  whisky  at  an  exorbitant  price.  In 
five  minutes — well,  he  sniffed  his  first  breath  of  prairie 
habits  and  prairie  ways. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  delve  deeply  into  the  characters 
of  these  citizens  of  Forks.  It  is  not  good  to  rake  bad 
soil,  the  process  is  always  offensive.  A  mere  outline  is 
alone  necessary.  Ike  Carney  purveyed  liquor.  A  lit- 
tle man  with  quick,  cunning  eyes,  and  a  mouth  that 
shut  tight  under  a  close-cut  fringe  of  gray  moustache. 
"Shaky"  Pindle,  the  carpenter,  was  a  sad-eyed  man 
who  looked  as  gentle  as  a  disguised  wolL  His  big, 
scarred  face  never  smiled,  because,  his  friends  said,  it 
was  a  physical  impossibility  for  it  to  do  so,  and  his 
huge,  rough  body  was  as  uncouth  as  his  manners,  and 
as  unwieldy  as  his  slow-moving  tongue.  Taylor,  other- 
wise *'  Twirly,"  the  butcher,  was  a  man  so  genial  and 
rubicund  that  in  five  minutes  you  began  to  wish  that 
he  was  built  like  the  lower  animals  that  have  no  means 
of  giving  audible  expression  to  their  good  humor,  or, 
if  they  have,  there  is  no  necessity  to  notice  it  except  by 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PHILISTINES       15 

a  well-directed  kick.  And  Slum,  quiet,  unsophisticated 
Slum,  shadier  than  the  shadiest  of  them  all,  but  a  man 
who  took  the  keenest  delight  in  the  humors  of  life,  and 
who  did  wrong  from  an  inordinate  dehght  in  besting 
his  neighbors.     A  man  to  smile  at,  but  to  avoid. 

These  were  the  men  John  Tresler,  fresh  from  Har- 
vard and  a  generous  home,  found  himself  associated 
with  while  he  rested  on  his  way  to  Mosquito  Bend. 

Ike  Carney  laid  himself  out  to  be  pleasant. 

'•Coin'  to  Skitter  Bend?"  he  observed,  as  he  handed 
his  new  guest  the  change  out  of  a  one  hundred  dollar 
bill.  **  Wal,  it's  a  tidy  layout ; — ninety-five  dollars, 
mister  ;  a  dollar  a  drink.  You'll  find  that  c'rect — best 
ranch  around  these  parts.  Say,"  he  went  on,  **  the  ol' 
blind  hoss  has  hunched  it  together  pretty  neat.  I'll 
say  that." 

**  Blind  mule,"  put  in  Slum,  vaulting  to  a  seat  on  the 
bar. 

**  Mule  ?  "  questioned  Shaky,  with  profound  scorn. 
"  Guess  you  ain't  worked  around  his  layout,  Slum. 
Skunk's  my  notion  of  him.  I  'lows  his  kickin's  most 
like  a  mule's,  but  ther'  ain't  nothin'  more  to  the  like- 
ness. A  mule's  a  hard-workin',  decent  cit'zen,  which 
ain't  off'n  said  o'  Julian  Marbolt." 

Shaky  swung  a  leg  over  the  back  of  a  chair  and  sat 
down  with  his  arms  folded  across  it,  and  his  heavy 
bearded  chin  resting  upon  them. 

"  But  you  can't  expect  a  blind  man  to  be  the  essence 
of  amiability,"  said  Tresler.     "Think  of  his  condition." 

"  See  here,  young  feller,"  jerked  in  Shaky,  thrusting 
his  chin-beard  forward  aggressively.     "  Condition  ain't 


l6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

to  be  figgered  on  when  a  man  4ceps  a  great  hulkin*, 
balldozin'  sv/ine  of  a  foreman  like  Jake  Harnach.  Say, 
tiiem  two,  the  blind  skunk  an'  Jake,  ken  raise  more 
hell  in  five  minutes  around  that  ranch  than  a  tribe  o 
neches  on  the  war-path„  I  built  a  barn  on  that  place 
last  summer,  an'  I  guess  I  know." 

"  Comforting  for  me,"  observed  Tresler,  wdth  a  laugh. 

*'  Oh,  you  ain't  like  to  git  his  rough  edge,"  put  in 
Carney,  easily. 

"Guess  you're  payin'  a  premium?"  asked  Shaky. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  three  years'  teaching." 

"Three  years  o'  Skitter  Bend?"  said  Slum,  quietly. 
"  Guess  you'll  learn  a  deal  in  three  years  o'  Skitter 
Bend." 

The  little  man  chewed  the  end  of  a  cigar  Tresler  had 
presented  him  with,  while  his  twinkling  eyes  exchanged 
meaning  glances  with  his  comrades.  Twirly  laughed 
loudly  and  backed  against  the  bar,  stretching  out  his 
arms  on  either  side  of  him,  and  gripping  its  moulded 
edge  with  his  beefy  hands. 

"An'  you're  payin' fer  that  teachin' ?"  the  butcher 
asked  incredulously,  when  his  mirth  had  subsided 

"  It  seems  the  custom  in  this  country  to  pay  for 
everything  you  get,"  Tresler  answered,  a  little  shortly. 

He  was  being  laughed  at  more  than  he  cared  about. 
Still  he  checked  his  annoyance.  He  wanted  to  know 
something  about  the  local  reputation  of  the  rancher  he 
had  apprenticed  himself  to,  so  he  fired  a  direct  question 
in  amongst  his  audience. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  sharply.  "  What's  the  game? 
What's  the  matter  with  this  Julian  Marbolt?" 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PHILISTINES       17 

He  looked  round  for  an  answer,  which,  for  some  min- 
utes, did  not  seem  to  be  forthcoming. 

Slum  broke  the  silence  at  last.  **  He's  blind,"  he 
said  quietly. 

**  I  know  that,"  retorted  Tresler,  impatiently.  **  It's 
something  else  I  want  to  know." 

He  looked  at  the  butcher,  who  only  laughed.  He 
turned  on  the  saloon-keeper,  who  shook  his  head.  Fi- 
nally he  applied  to  Shaky. 

"  Wal,"  the  carpenter  began,  with  a  ponderous  air  of 
weighing  his  words.  "  I  ain't  the  man  to  judge  a  fel- 
ler oflhand  like.  I  'lows  I  know  suthin'  o'  the  blind 
man  o'  Skitter  Bend,  seein'  I  wus  workin'  contract  fer 
him  all  last  summer.  An'  wot  I  knows  is — nasty.  I've 
see'd  things  on  that  ranch  as  made  me  git  a  tight  grip 
on  my  axe,  an'  long  a' mighty  hard  to  bust  a  few  heads 
in.  I've  see'd  that  all-fired  Jake  Harnach,  the  foreman, 
hammer  hell  out  o'  some  o'  the  hands,  wi'  tha'  blind 
man  standin'  by  jest  as  though  his  gummy  eyes  could 
see  what  was  doin',  and  I've  watched  his  ugly  face 
workin'  wi'  every  blow  as  Jake  pounded,  'cos  o'  the 
pleasure  it  give  him.  I've  see'd  some  o'  those  fellers 
wilter  right  down  an'  grovel  like  yaller  dorgs  at  their 
master's  feet.  I've  see'd  that  butcher-lovin'  lot  handle 
their  bosses  an'  steers  like  so  much  dead  meat — an' 
wuss'n.  I've  see'd  hell  around  that  ranch.  'An'  why 
for,'  you  asks,  *  do  their  punchers  an'  hands  stand  it  ? ' 
'  'Cos,'  I  answers  quick,  *  ther'  ain't  a  job  on  this  coun- 
tryside fer  'em  after  Julian  Marbolt's  done  with  'em.' 
That's  why.  'Wher'  wus  3^ou  workin'  around  before?' 
asks  a  foreman.      'Skitter  Bend,'  says  ihe  puncher 


i8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

*  Ain't  got  nothin'  fer  you/  says  the  foreman  quick ; 

*  guess  this  ain't  no  butcherin'  bizness ! '  An'  that's 
jest  how  it  is  right  thro'  with  Skitter  Bend,"  Shaky 
finished  up,  drenching  the  spittoon  against  the  bar  with 
consummate  accuracy. 

*'  Right — dead  right,"  said  Twirly.  with  a  laugh. 

"  Guess,  mebbe,  you're  prejudiced  some,"  suggested 
Carney,  with  an  eye  on  his  visitor. 

**  Shaky's  taken  to  book  readin',"  said  Slum,  gently. 
*'  Guess  dime  fiction  gits  a  powerful  holt  on  some 
folk." 

"  Dime  fiction  y'rself,"  retorted  Shaky,  sullenly 
**  Mebbe  young  Dave  Steele  as  come  back  from  ther" 
with  a  hole  in  his  head  that  left  him  plumb  crazy  ever 
since  till  he  died,  'cos  o'  some  racket  he  had  wi'  Jake 
— mebbe  that's  out  of  a  dime  fiction.  Say,  you  git 
right  to  it,  an'  kep  on  sousin'  whisky,  Slum  Ranks. 
You  ken  do  that — you  can't  tell  me  'bout  the  blind 
man." 

A  pause  in  the  conversation  followed  while  Ike  dried 
some  glasses.  The  room  was  getting  dark.  It  was  a 
cheerless  den.  Tresler  was  thoughtfully  smoking.  He 
was  digesting  and  sifting  what  he  had  heard ;  trying 
to  separate  fact  from  fiction  in  Shaky's  story.  He  felt 
that  there  must  be  some  exaggeration.  At  last  he 
broke  the  silence,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  on  him. 

*'  And  do  you  mean  to  say  there  is  no  law  to  protect 
people  on  these  outlying  stations  ?  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  men  sit  down  quietly  under  such  dastardly 
tyranny?"  His  questions  were  more  particularly  di- 
Fected  toward  Shaky. 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PHILISTINES       19 

"Law?"  replied  the  carpenter.  ''Law?  Say,  we 
don't  rec'nize  no  law  around  these  parts — not  yet. 
Mebbe  it's  comin',  but — I  'lows  ther's  jest  one  law  at 
present,  an'  that  we  mostly  carries  on  us.  Oh,  Jake 
Harnach's  met  his  match  'fore  now.  But  'tain't  frekent. 
Yes,  Jake's  a  big  swine,  wi'  the  muscle  o'  two  men  ; 
but  I've  seen  him  git  downed,  and  not  a  hund'ed  mile 
from  wher'  we're  settin'.  Say,  Ike,"  he  turned  to  the 
man  behind  the  bar,  "  you  ain't  like  to  fergit  the  night 
Black  Anton  called  his  '  hand.'  Ther'  ain't  no  bluff  to 
Anton.  When  he  gits  to  the  bizness  end  of  a  gun  it's 
best  to  get  your  thumbs  up  sudden." 

The  saloon-keeper  nodded.  "  Guess  there's  one 
man  who's  got  Jake's  measure,  an'  that's  Black  Anton." 

The  butcher  added  a  punctuating  laugh,  while  Slum 
nodded. 

"  And  who's  Black  Anton  ? "  asked  Tresler  of  the 
saloon-keeper. 

"  Anton  ?  Wal,  I  guess  he's  Marbolt's  private  hoss 
keeper.  He's  a  half-breed.  French-Canadian ;  an' 
tough.  Say,  he's  jest  as  quiet  an'  easy  you  wouldn't 
know  he  was  around.  Soft  spoken  as  a  woman,  an' 
jest  about  as  vicious  as  a  rattler.  Guess  you'll  meet 
him.     An'  I  'lows  he's  meetable — till  he's  riled." 

"  Pleasant  sort  of  man  if  he  can  cow  this  wonderful 
Jake,"  observed  Tresler,  quietly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  pleasant  'nough,"  said  Ike,  mistaking  his 
guest's  meaning. 

"  The  only  thing  I  can't  understand  'bout  Anton," 
said  Slum,  suddenly  becoming  interested,  "  is  that  he's 
earnin'  his  livin'  honest     He's  too  quiet,  an' — an'  iiey. 


20  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

He  sort  o'  slid  into  this  territory  wi'out  a  blamed  cit'zen 
of  us  knowin'.  We've  heerd  tell  of  him  sence  from 
'crost  the  border,  an'  the  yarns  ain't  nice.  I  don"t 
figger  to  argue  wi'  strangers  at  no  time,  an'  when 
Anton's  around  I  don't  never  git  givin'  no  opinion  till 
he's  done  talkin',  when  I  mostly  find  mine's  the  same 
as  his." 

'•  Some  folks  ain't  got  no  grit,"  growled  Shaky,  con- 
temptuously. 

"An'  some  folk  'a'  got  so  much  grit  they  ain't  got 
no  room  fer  savee,"  rapped  in  Slum  sharply. 

"  Meanin'  me,"  said  Shaky,  sitting  up  angrily. 

**  I  'lows  you've  got  grit,"  replied  the  little  man 
quietly,  looking  squarely  into  the  big  man's  eyes. 

"  Go  to  h " 

**  Guess  I'd  as  lief  be  in  Forks ;  it's  warmer,"  replied 
Slum,  imperturbably. 

"Stow  yer  gas  1  You  nag  like  a  widder  as  can't  git 
a  second  man." 

"  Which  wouldn't  happen  wi'  folk  o*  your  kidney 
around." 

Shaky  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  and  his  anger 
was  blazing  in  his  fierce  eyes. 

*'  Say,  you  gorl " 

**  Set  right  ther*.  Shaky,"  broke  in  Slum,  as  the  big 
man  sprang  toward  him.  "  Set  right  ther'  ;  ther'  ain't 
goin'  to  be  no  hoss-play." 

Slum  Ranks  had  not  shifted  his  position,  but  his 
right  hand  had  dived  into  his  jacket  pocket  and  his 
eyes  flashed  ominously.  And  the  carpenter  dropped 
back  into  his  seat  without  a  word. 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PHILISTINES       21 

And  Tresler  looked  on  in  amazement.  It  was  all  so 
quick,  so  sudden.  There  had  hardly  been  a  breathing 
space  between  the  passing  of  their  good-nature  and 
their  swift-rising  anger.  The  strangeness  of  it  all,  the 
lawlessness,  fascinated  him.  He  knew  he  was  on  the 
fringe  of  civilization,  but  he  had  had  no  idea  of  how 
sparse  and  short  that  fringe  was.  He  thought  that 
civilization  depended  on  the  presence  of  white  folk 
That,  of  necessity,  white  folk  must  themselves  have 
the  instincts  of  civilization. 

Here  he  saw  men,  apparently  good  comrades  all, 
who  were  ready,  on  the  smallest  provocation,  to  turn 
and  rend  each  other.  It  was  certainly  a  new  life  to 
him,  something  that  perhaps  he  had  vaguely  dreamt 
of,  but  the  possibility  of  the  existence  of  which  he  had 
never  seriously  considered. 

But,  curiously  enough,  as  he  beheld  these  things  for 
himself  for  the  first  time,  they  produced  no  shock,  they 
disturbed  him  in  nowise.  It  all  seemed  so  natural. 
More,  it  roused  in  him  a  feeling  that  such  things  should 
be.  Possibly  this  feeling  was  due  to  his  own  upbring- 
ing, which  had  been  that  of  an  essentially  athletic  uni- 
versity. He  even  felt  the  warm  blood  surge  through 
his  veins  at  the  prospect  of  a  forcible  termination  to 
the  two  men's  swift  passage  of  arms. 

But  the  ebullition  died  out  as  quickly  as  it  had  risen. 
Slum  slid  from  the  bar  to  the  ground,  and  his  deep-set 
eyes  were  smiling  again. 

"  Pshaw,"  he  said,  with  a  careless  shrug,  "ther'  ain't 
nothin'  to  grit  wi'out  savee." 

Shaky  rose  and  stretched  himself  as  though  nothing 


22  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

had  happened  to  disturb  the  harmony  of  the  meeting. 
The  butcher  rehnquished  his  hold  on  the  bar  and 
moved  across  to  the  window. 

**  Guess  the  missis'll  be  shoutin'  around  fer  j^ou 
fellers  to  git  your  suppers,"  Slum  observed  cheerfully. 
Then  he  turned  to  Tresler.  ''  Ike,  here,  don't  run  no 
boarders.  Mebbe  you'd  best  git  around  to  my  shack. 
Sally'll  fix  you  up  with  a  blanket  or  two,  an'  the  grub 
ain't  bad.  You  see,  I  run  a  boardin'-house  lev  the 
boys — leastways,  Sally  does." 

And  Tresler  adopted  the  suggestion.  He  had  no 
choice  but  to  do  so.  Anyway,  he  was  quite  satisfied 
with  the  arrangement.  He  had  entered  the  life  of  the 
prairie  and  was  more  than  willing  to  adopt  its  ways 
and  its  people. 

And  the  recollection  of  that  first  night  in  Forks  re- 
mained with  him  when  the  memory  of  many  sub- 
sequent nights  had  passed  from  him.  It  stuck  to 
him  as  only  the  first  strong  impressions  of  a  new  life 
can. 

He  met  Sally  Ranks — she  was  two  sizes  too  large 
for  the  dining-room  of  the  boarding-house — who  talked 
in  a  shrieking  nasal  manner  that  cut  the  air  like  a 
knife,  and  who  heaped  the  plates  with  coarse  food  that 
it  was  well  to  have  a  good  appetite  to  face.  He  dined 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  at  a  table  that  had  no  cloth, 
and  devoured  his  food  with  the  aid  of  a  knife  and  fork 
that  had  never  seen  a  burnish  since  they  had  first 
entered  the  establishment,  and  drank  boiled  tea  out 
of  a  tin  cup  that  had  once  been  enameled.  He  was 
no  longer  John  Tresler,  fresh  from  the  New  England 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PHILISTINES       23 

States,  but  one  of  fourteen  boarders,  the  majority  of 
whom  doubled  the  necessary  length  of  their  sentences 
when  they  conversed  by  reason  of  an  extensive  vocab- 
ulary of  blasphemy,  and  picked  their  teeth  with  their 
forks. 

But  it  was  pleasant  to  him.  He  was  surrounded  by 
something  approaching  the  natural  man.  Maybe  they 
were  drawn  from  the  dregs  of  society,  but  nevertheless 
they  had  forcibly  established  their  right  to  live — a  fea- 
ture that  had  lifted  them  from  the  ruck  of  thousands  of 
law-abiding  citizens.  He  experienced  a  friendly  feeling 
for  these  rufhans.  More,  he  had  a  certain  respect  for 
them. 

After  supper  many  of  them  drifted  back  to  their  rec- 
reation-ground, the  saloon.  Tresler,  although  he  had 
no  inclination  for  drink,  would  have  done  the  same. 
He  wished  to  see  more  of  the  people,  to  study  them  as 
a  man  who  wishes  to  prepare  himself  for  a  new  part. 
But  the  quiet  Slum  drew  him  back  and  talked  gently 
to  him  ;  and  he  listened. 

"  Say,  Tresler,"  the  little  man  remarked  offhandedly, 
"  ther's  three  fellers  lookin'  fer  a  gamble.  Two  of  'em 
ain't  a  deal  at  '  draw,'  the  other's  pretty  neat.  I  tho't, 
mebbe,  you'd  notion  a  hand  up  here  wi'  us.  It's  better' n 
loafin'  down  't  the  saloon.  We  most  gener'ly  play  a 
dollar  Umit." 

And  so  it  was  arranged.  Tresler  stayed.  He  was 
initiated.  He  learned  the  result  of  a  game  of  **  draw  " 
in  Forks,  where  the  players  made  the  whole  game  of 
life  a  gamble,  and  attained  a  marked  proficiency  in  the 
art. 


24  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

The  lesult  was  inevitable.  By  midnight  there  were 
four  richer  citizens  in  Forks,  and  a  newcomer  who  was 
poorer  by  his  change  out  of  a  hundred-dollar  bill. 
But  Tresier  lost  quite  cheerfully.  He  never  really 
knew  how  it  was  he  lost,  whether  it  was  his  ba.d  play 
or  bad  luck.  He  was  too  tired  and  sleepy  long  before 
the  game  ended.  He  realized  next  morning,  when  he 
came  to  reflect,  that  in  some  mysterious  manner  he 
had  been  done.  However,  he  took  his  initiation  phil- 
osophically, making  only  a  mental  reservation  for 
future  guidance. 

That  night  he  slept  on  a  palliasse  of  straw,  with  a 
pillow  consisting  of  a  thin  bolster  propped  on  his  outer 
clothes.  Three  very  yellow  blankets  made  up  the  tally 
of  comfort.  And  the  whole  was  spread  out  on  the 
floor  of  a  room  in  which  four  other  men  were  sleeping 
noisily. 

After  breakfast  he  paid  his  bill,  and,  procuring  his 
horse,  prepared  for  departure.  His  first  acquaintance 
in  Forks  stood  his  friend  to  the  last.  Slum  it  was  v/ho 
looked  round  his  horse  to  see  that  the  girths  of  the 
saddle  were  all  right ;  Slum  it  was  who  praised  the 
beast  in  quiet,  critical  tones  ;  Slum  it  was  who  shock 
him  by  the  hand  and  wished  him  luck ;  Slum  it  Vv'as 
who  gave  him  a  parting  word  of  advice ;  just  as  it  was 
Slum  who  had  first  met  him  with  ridicule,  cared  for 
him — at  a  price— during  his  sojourn,  and  quietly  robbed 
him  at  a  game  he  knew  little  about.  And  Tresier,  with 
the  philosophy  of  a  man  who  has  that  within  him  which 
must  make  for  achievement,  smiled,  shook  hands 
heartily  and  with  good  will,  and  quietly  stored  up  the 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PHILISTINES       25 

wisdom  he  had  acquired  in  his  first  night  in  Forks 
Settlement. 

"  Say,  Tresler,"  exclaimed  Slum,  kindly,  as  he  wrung 
his  departing  guest's  hand,  "  I'm  real  glad  I've  met 
you.  1  'lows,  comin'  as  you  did,  you  might  'a'  run 
dead  into  some  durned  skunk  as  hadn't  the  manners 
for  dealiii'  with  a  hog.  There's  a  hatful  of  'em  in 
Forks.  S'long.  Say,  ther's  a  gal  at  Skitter  Bend. 
She's  the  ol'  blind  hoss's  daughter,  an'  she's  a  dandy. 
But  don't  git  sparkin'  her  wi'  the  ol'  man  around." 

Tresler  laughed.     Slum  amused  him. 

*'  Good-bye,"  he  said.  "  Your  kindness  has  taken  a 
load — ofl  my  mind.  I  know  more  than  I  did  yesterday 
morning.  No,  I  won't  get  sparking  the  girl  with  the 
old  man  around.     See  you  again  some  time.'* 

And  he  passed  out  of  Forks. 

*'  That  feller's  a  decent — no,  he's  a  gentleman,"  mut- 
tered Slum,  staring  after  the  receding  horseman, 
*'  Guess  Skittor  Bend's  jest  about  the  place  fer  him. 
He'll  bob  out  on  top  like  a  cork  in  a  water  bar'l.  Say, 
Jake  Harnach'll  git  his  feathers  trimmed  or  I  don't 
know  a  '  deuce-spot '  from  a  *  straight  flush.'  " 

Which  sentiment  spoke  volumes  for  his  opinion  of 
the  man  who  had  just  left  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

MOSQUITO  BEND 

Forks  died  away  in  a  shimmering  haze  of  heat  as 
Tresler  rode  out  over  the  hard  prairie  trail.  Ten  miles 
they  had  told  him  it  was  to  Mosquito  Bend  ;  a  ten-mile 
continuation  of  the  undulating  plains  he  had  now  grown  ^ 
accustomed  to.  He  allowed  his  horse  to  take  it  lei- 
surely.    There  was  no  great  hurry  for  an  early  arrival. 

John  Tresler  had  done  what  many  an  enterprising 
youngster  from  the  New  England  States  has  done  since. 
At  the  age  of  twenty-five,  finding  himself,  after  his 
university  career  at  Harvard,  with  an  excellent  train- 
ing in  all  athletics,  particularly  boxing  and  wrestling 
and  all  those  games  pertaining  to  the  noble  art  of  self- 
defense,  but  with  only  a  limited  proficiency  in  matters 
relating  to  the  earning  of  an  adequate  living,  he  had 
decided  to  break  new  ground  for  himself  on  the  prairie- 
lands  of  the  West.  Stock-raising  was  his  object,  and, 
to  this  end,  he  had  sought  out  a  ranch  where  he  could 
thoroughly  master  the  craft  before  embarking  on  his 
own  enterprise. 

It  was  through  official  channels  that  he  had  heard  of 
Mosquito  Bend  as  one  of  the  largest  ranches  in  the 
country  at  the  time,  and  he  had  at  once  entered  into 
negotiations  with  the  owner,  Julian  Marbolt,  for  a  period 
of  instruction.     His  present  journey  was  the  result. 


MOSQUITO  BEND  27 

He  thought  a  good  deal  as  his  horse  ambled  over 
that  ten  miles.  He  weighed  the  stories  he  had  heard 
from  Shaky,  and  picked  them  threadbare.  He  reduced 
his  efforts  to  a  few  pointed  conclusions.  Things  were 
decidedly  rough  at  Mosquito  Bend.  Probably  the 
brutality  was  a  case  of  brute  force  pitted  against  brute 
force — he  had  taken  into  consideration  the  well-known 
disposition  of  the  Western  cowpuncher — and,  as  such, 
a  matter  of  regretable  necessity  for  the  governing  of 
the  place.  Shaky  had  in  some  way  fallen  foul  of  the 
master  and  foreman  and  had  allowed  personal  feel- 
ings to  warp  his  judgment.  And,  lastly,  taking  his 
**  greenness  "  into  account,  he  had  piled  up  the  agony 
simply  from  the  native  love  of  the  "  old  hand  "  for 
scaring  a  newcomer. 

Tresler  was  no  weakling  or  he  would  never  have  set 
out  to  shape  his  own  course  as  he  was  now  doing.  He 
was  a  man  of  considerable  purpose,  self-reliant  and 
reasonable,  with  sufficient  easy  good-nature  to  be  com- 
patible with  strength.  He  liked  his  own  experiences 
too,  though  he  never  scorned  the  experiences  of 
another.  Slum  had  sized  him  up  pretty  shrewdly 
when  he  said  "  he'll  bob  out  on  top  like  a  cork  in  a 
water  bar'l,"  but  he  had  not  altogether  done  him  full 
justice. 

The  southwestern  trail  headed  slant-wise  for  the 
mountains,  which  snowy  barrier  bounded  his  vision  to 
the  west  the  whole  of  his  journey.  He  had  watched 
the  distant  white-capped  ramparts  until  their  novelty 
had  worn  ofiF,  and  now  he  took  their  presence  as  a 
matter  of  course.     His  eyes  came  back  to  the  wide, 


2B  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

almost  limitless  plains  about  him,  and  he  longed  for  the 
sight  of  a  tree,  a  river,  even  a  cultivated  patch  of 
nodding  wheat.  But  there  was  just  nothing  but  the 
lank,  tawny  grass  for  miles  and  miles,  and  the  blazing 
sunlight  that  scorched  him  and  baked  gra}^  streaks  of 
dusty  sweat  on  his  horse's  shoulders  and  flanks. 

He  rode  along  dreaming,  as  no  doubt  hundreds  of 
others  have  dreamt  before  and  since.  There  was  noth- 
ing new  or  original  about  his  dreams,  for  he  was  not  a 
man  given  to  romance.  He  was  too  direct  and  practical 
for  that.  No,  his  were  just  the  thoughts  of  a  young 
man  who  has  left  his  home,  which  thereby  gains  in 
beauty  as  distance  lends  enchantment  to  it,  and  kindly 
recollection  crowns  it  with  a  glory  that  it  could  never 
in  reality  possess. 

Without  indication  or  warning,  he  came  upon  one  of 
those  strangely  hidden  valleys  in  which  the  prairie  near 
the  Rockies  abounds.  He  found  himself  at  the  edge 
of  it,  gazing  down  upon  a  wide  woodland-bound  river, 
which  wound  away  to  the  east  and  west  like  the  trail 
of  some  prehistoric  monster.  The  murmur  of  the 
flowing  waters  came  to  him  with  such  a  suggestion  of 
coolness  and  shade  that,  for  the  first  time  on  his  long 
journey  from  Whitewater,  he  was  made  to  forget  the 
park-like  beauties  of  his  own  native  land. 

There  was  a  delightful  variation  of  color  in  the 
foliage  down  there.  Such  a  density  of  shadov/,  such  a 
brilliancy.  And  a  refreshing  breeze  was  rustling  over 
the  tree-tops,  a  breath  he  had  longed  for  on  the  plains 
but  had  never  felt.  The  opposite  side  was  lower.  He 
stood  on  a  sort  of  giant  step.     A  wall  that  divided  the 


MOSQUITO  BEND  29 

country  beyond  from  the  country  he  was  leaving.  A 
wall  that  seemed  to  isolate  those  who  might  live  down 
there  and  shut  them  out  as  though  theirs  was  another 
world. 

He  touched  his  horse's  flanks,  and,  with  careful,  stilted 
steps,  the  animal  began  the  descent.  And  now  he 
speculated  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  ranch,  for  he 
knew  that  this  was  the  Mosquito  River,  and  somewhere 
upon  its  banks  stood  his  future  home.  As  he  thought 
of  this  he  laughed.  His  future  home  ;  well,  judging  by 
what  he  had  been  told,  it  would  certainly  possess  the 
charm  of  novelty. 

He  was  forced  to  give  up  further  speculation  for 
a  while.  The  trail  descended  so  sharply  that  his  horse 
had  to  sidle  down  it,  and  the  loose  shingle  under  its 
feet  set  it  sliding  and  slipping  dangerously. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  drew  up  on  the  river 
bank  and  looked  about  him.  Whither  ?  That  was  the 
question.  He  was  at  four  crossroads.  East  and  west, 
along  the  river  bank  ;  and  north  and  south,  the  w^ay  he 
had  come  and  across  the  w^ater. 

Along  the  bank  the  woods  were  thick  and  dark,  and 
the  trail  split  them  like  the  aisle  of  an  aged  Gothic 
church.  The  surface  of  red  sand  was  hard,  but  there 
were  marks  of  traffic  upon  it.  Then  he  looked  across 
the  river  at  the  distant  rolling  plains. 

"  Of  course,*'  he  said  aloud.  **  Who's  going  to  build 
a  ranch  on  this  side?     Where  could  the  cattle  run  ?  " 

And  he  put  his  horse  at  the  water  and  waded  across 
without  further  hesitation.  Beyond  the  river  the  road 
bent  av/ay  sharply  to  the  right,  and  cut  through  a  wide 


30  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

avenue  of  enormous  pine  trees,  and  along  this  he 
bustled  his  horse.  Half  a  mile  furthei  on  the  avenue 
widened.  The  solemn  depths  about  him  lightened,  and 
patches  of  sunlight  shone  down  into  them  and  lit  up 
th«  matted  underlay  of  rotting  cones  and  pine-needles 
which  covered  the  earth. 

The  road  bent  sharply  away  from  the  river,  revealing 
a  scrub  of  low  bush  decorated  with  a  collection  of  white 
garments,  evidently  set  out  to  dry.  His  horse  shied  at 
the  unusual  sight,  and  furthermore  took  exception  to  the 
raucous  sound  of  a  man's  voice  chanting  a  dismal 
melody,  somewhere  away  down  by  the  river  on  his 
right. 

In  this  direction  he  observed  a  cattle-path.  And  the 
sight  of  it  suggested  ascertaining  the  identity  of  the 
doleful  minstrel.  No  doubt  this  man  could  give  him 
the  information  he  needed.  He  turned  off  the  road  and 
plunged  into  scrub.  And  at  the  river  bank  he  came 
upon  a  curious  scene.  There  v/as  a  sandy  break  in  the 
bush,  and  the  bank  sloped  gradually  to  the  water's 
edge.  Three  or  four  wash-tubs,  grouped  together  in 
a  semicircle,  stood  on  wooden  trestles,  and  a  quaint- 
looking  httle  man  w^as  bending  over  one  of  them  wash- 
ing clothes,  rubbing  and  beating  a  handful  of  garments 
on  a  board  like  any  washerwoman.  His  back  was 
turned  to  the  path,  and  he  faced  the  river.  On  his  right 
stood  an  iron  furnace  and  boiler,  with  steam  escaping 
from  under  the  lid.  And  all  around  him  the  bushes 
were  hung  with  drying  clothes. 

*'  Hello !  "  cried  Tresler,  as  he  slipped  to  the  ground. 

**  Holy  smoke  1'^ 


MOSQUITO  BEND  31 

The  scrubbing  and  banging  had  ceased,  and  the 
most  curiously  twisted  face  Tresler  had  ever  seen 
glanced  back  over  the  man's  bowed  shoulder.  A  red, 
perspiring  face,  tufted  at  the  point  of  the  chin  with  a 
knot  of  gray  whisker,  a  pair  of  keen  gray  eyes,  and  a 
mouth — yes,  it  was  the  mouth  that  held  Tresler's  atten- 
tion. It  w^ent  up  on  one  side,  and  had  somehow  got 
mixed  up  with  his  cheek,  while  a  suggestion  of  it  was 
continued  by  means  of  a  dark  red  scar  right  up  to  the 
left  eye. 

For  a  second  or  tw^o  Tresler  could  not  speak,  he  was 
so  astonished,  so  inclined  to  laugh.  And  all  the  while 
the  gray  eyes  took  him  in  from  head  to  foot ;  then  an- 
other exclamation,  even  more  awestruck,  broke  from 
the  stranger. 

"  Gee-whizz  ! " 

And  Tresler  sobered  at  once. 

"Where's  Mosquito  Bend  Ranch?"  he  asked. 

The  little  man  dropped  his  washing  and  turned 
round,  propping  himself  against  the  edge  of  the  tub. 

'*  Skitter  Bend  Ranch  ?"  he  echoed  slowly,  as  though 
the  meaning  of  the  question  had  not  penetrated  to  his 
intellect.     Then  a  subdued  whisper  followed.     "Gee, 

but  I "     And  he  looked  down  at  his  own  clothes 

as  though  to  reassure  himself. 

Tresler  broke  in;  he  understood  the  trend  of  the 
other's  thoughts. 

"  Yes,  Mosquito  Bend,"  he  said  sharply. 

*'  Nigh   to  a  mile  on.     Keep  to  the  trail,  an'  you'll 

strike  Blind  Hell  in  a  few   minutes.     Say "     He 

broke  off,  and  looked  up  into  Tresler's  face. 


32  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

''Yes,  Fm  going  there.  You  don't  happen  to  be- 
long to— to  Blind  Hell  ?  " 

''  Happen  I  do,"  assured  the  washerman.  "  I  do  the 
chores  around  the  ranch.     Joe  Nelson,  once  a  stock 

raiser     m'self.       Kerrville,    Texas.      Now "      He 

broke  off,  and  waved  a  hand  in  the  direction  of  the 
drying  clothes. 

'*  Well,  I'm  John  Tresler,  and  I'm  on  my  way  to 
Mosquito  Bend." 

"  So  you're  the  *  tenderfoot,*  "  observed  the  chore- 
man,  musingly.  *'  You're  the  feller  from  Noo  England 
as  Jake's  goin'  to  lick  into  shape." 

"  Going  to  teach,  you  mean." 

''  I  s'pose  I  do,"  murmured  the  other  gently,  but 
without  conviction.  The  twisted  side  of  his  face 
wrinkled  hideously,  while  the  other  side  smiled. 

**You  mentioned  Blind  Hell  just  now?"  questioned 
Tresler,  as  the  other  relapsed  into  a  quiet  survey  of 
him. 

"Blind  Hell,  did  I?"  said  Nelson,  repeating  the 
name,  a  manner  which  seemed  to  be  a  habit  of  his. 

*•  Yes.     What  is  it  ?     What  did  you  mean  ?  " 

Tresler's  questions  were  a  little  peremptory.  He  felt 
that  the  riding-breeches  that  had  caused  such  notice  in 
Forks  were  likely  to  bring  him  further  ridicule. 

''  Oh,  it's  jest  a  name.  Tain't  of  no  consequence. 
Say,"  the  choreman  broke  out  suddenly,  "  you  don't 
figger  to  git  boostin'  steers  in  that  rig  ?  "  He  stretched 
out  an  abnormally  long  arm,  and  pointed  a  rough  but 
wonderfully  clean  finger  at  the  flowing  corduroys 
Tresler  had  now  become  so  sensitive  about 


MOSQUITO  BEND  33 

•*  Great  Scott,  man  !  "  he  let  out  testily.  "  Have  you 
never  seen  riding-breeches  before  ? — you,  a  ranch- 
man." 

The  tufted  beard  shot  sideways  again  as  the  face 
screwed  up  and  half  of  it  smiled. 

"  I  do  allow  I've  seen  such  things  before.  Oncet," 
he  drawled  slowly,  with  a  slight  Southern  accent,  but 
in  a  manner  that  betokened  a  speech  acquired  by  asso- 
ciation rather  than  the  natural  tongue.  "  He  was  a 
feller  that  came  out  to  shoot  big  game  up  in  the  hills. 
I  ain't  seen  him  sence,  sure.  Guess  nobody  did."  He 
looked  away  sadly.  '*  We  heerd  tell  of  him.  Guess 
he  got  fossicking  after  b'ar.  The  wind  was  bio  win' 
ter'ble.  He'd  climbed  a  mount'n.  It  was  pretty 
high.  Ther'  wa'n't  no  shelter.  A  gust  o'  that  wind 
come  an' — took  him." 

Nelson  had  turned  back  to  his  tubs,  and  was  again 
banging  and  rubbing. 

"A  mile  down  the  trail,  I  think  you  said?"  Tresler 
cried,  springing  hastily  into  the  saddle. 

**  Sure." 

And  for  the  first  time  Tresler's  horse  felt  the  sharp 
prick  of  the  spurs  as  he  rode  off. 

Mosquito  Bend  Ranch  stood  in  a  wide  clearing,  with 
the  house  on  a  rising  ground  above  it.  It  was  lined  at 
the  back  by  a  thick  pinewood.  For  the  rest  the  house 
faced  out  on  to  the  prairie,  and  the  verandahed  front 
overlooked  the  barns,  corrals,  and  outhouses.  It  stood 
apart,  fully  one  hundred  yards  from  the  nearest  out- 
buildings. 

This  was  the  first  impression  Tresler  obtained  on  ar- 


54  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

rival.  The  second  was  that  it  was  a  magnificent  ranch 
and  the  proprietor  must  be  a  wealthy  man.  The  third 
was  one  of  disappointment ;  everything  was  so  quiet, 
so  still.  There  was  no  rush  or  bustle.  No  horsemen 
riding  around  with  cracking  whips ;  no  shouting,  no 
atmosphere  of  wildness.  And,  worst  of  all,  there  were 
no  droves  of  cattle  tearing  around.  Just  a  few  old 
milch  cows  near  by,  peacefully  grazing  their  day  away, 
and  philosophically  awaiting  milking  time.  These, 
and  a  few  dogs,  a  horse  or  two  loose  in  the  corrals, 
and  a  group  of  men  idling  outside  a  low,  thatched 
building,  comprised  the  life  he  first  beheld  as  he  rode 
into  the  clearing. 

"  And  this  is  Blind  Hell,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
came.  **  It  belies  its  name.  A  more  peaceful,  beauti- 
ful picture,  I've  never  clapped  eyes  on." 

And  then  his  thoughts  went  back  to  Forks.  That 
too  had  looked  so  innocent.  After  all,  he  remem- 
bered, it  was  the  people  who  made  or  marred  a  place. 

So  he  rode  straight  to  a  small,  empty  corral,  and, 
off-saddling,  turned  his  horse  loose,  and  deposited  his 
saddle  and  bridle  in  the  shadow  of  the  walls.  Then 
he  moved  up  toward  the  buildings  where  the  men 
were  grouped. 

They  eyed  him  steadily  as  he  came,  much  as  they 
might  eye  a  strange  animal,  and  he  felt  a  litde  uncom- 
fortable as  he  recollected  his  encounter  first  with  Slum 
and  more  recently  with  Joe  Nelson.  He  had  grown 
sensitive  about  his  appearance,  and  a  spirit  of  defiance 
and  retaliation  awoke  within  him. 

But  for  some  reason  the  men  paid  little  attention  to 


MOSQUITO  BEND  35 

him  just  then.  One  man  was  talking,  and  the  rest 
were  listening  with  rapt  interest.  They  were  cow- 
punchers,  every  one.  Cowpunchers  such  as  Tresler 
had  heard  of.  Some  were  still  wearing  their  fringed 
"  chapps,"  their  waists  belted  with  gun  and  ammuni- 
tion ;  some  were  in  plain  overalls  and  thin  cotton  shirts. 
All,  except  one,  were  tanned  a  dark,  ruddy  hue,  un- 
shaven, unkempt,  but  tough-looking  and  hardy.  The 
pale-faced  exception  was  a  thin,  sick-looking  fellow 
with  deep  hollows  under  his  eyes,  and  lips  as  ashen  as 
a  corpse.  He  it  was  who  was  talking,  and  his  recital 
demanded  a  great  display  of  dramatic  gesture. 

Tresler  came  up  and  joined  the  group.  "  I  never 
ast  to  git  put  up  ther','*  he  heard  the  sick  man  saying ; 
'*  never  ast,  an'  didn't  want.  It  was  her  doin's,  an'  I  tell 
you  fellers  right  here  she's  jest  thet  serrupy  an'  good 
as  don't  matter.  I'd  'a'  rotted  down  here  wi'  flies  an' 
the  heat  for  all  they'd  'a'  care^o     That  blind  son  of  a 

'ud  'a'  jest  lafTed  ef  I'd  handed  over,  an'  Jake — 

say,  we'll  level  our  score  one  day,  sure.  Next  time 
Red  Mask,  or  any  other  hoss  thief,  gits  around,  I'll 
bear  a  hand  drivin'  off  the  bunch.  I  ain't  scrappin' 
no  more  fer  the  blind  man.  Look  at  me  Guess  I 
ain't  no  more  use'n  yon  *  tenderfoot.'  "  The  speaker 
pointed  scornfully  at  Tresler,  and  his  audience  turned 
and  looked.  **  Guess  I've  lost  quarts  o'  blood,  an' 
have  got  a  hole  in  my  chest  ye  couldn't  plug  with  a 
corn-sack.  An'  now,  jest  when  I'm  gittin'  to  mend 
decent,  he  comes  an'  boosts  me  right  out  to  the  bunk- 
house  'cause  he  ketches  me  yarnin'  wi'  that  bit  of  a  gal 
o'  his.     But,  say,  she  just  let  out  on  him  that  neat  as 


36  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

you  fellers  never  heerd.  Yes,  sir,  guess  her  tongue's 
like  velvet  mostly,  but  when  she  turned  on  that  blind 
hulk  of  a  father  of  hers — wal,  ther',  ef  I  was  a  cat  an' 
had  nine  lives  to  give  fer  her  they  jest  wouldn't  be 
enough  by  a  hund'ed." 

*•  Say,  Arizona,"  said  one  of  the  men  quietly,  **  what 
w^as  you  yarnin'  'bout  ?  Guess  you  alius  was  sweet  on 
Miss  Dianny." 

Arizona  turned  on  the  speaker  fiercely.  "  That'll  do 
fer  you,  Raw ;  mebbe  you  ain't  got  savee,  an'  don't 
know  a  leddy  when  you  sees  one.  I'm  a  cow-hand, 
an'  good  as  any  man  around  here,  an'  ef  you've  any 
doubts  about  it,  why " 

*'  Don't  take  no  notice,  Arizona,"  put  in  a  lank  youth 
quickly.  He  was  a  tall,  hungry-looking  boy,  in  that 
condition  of  physical  development  when  nature  seems 
in  some  doubt  as  to  her  original  purpose.  "'E's  only 
laffin'  at  you." 

"  Guess  Mister  Raw  Harris  ken  quit  right  here  then, 
Teddy      I  ain't  takin'  his  slack  noways." 

''  Git  on  with  the  yarn,  Arizona,"  cried  another. 
'*  Say,  wot  was  you  sayin'  to  the  gal  ? " 

"  Y'  see,  Jacob,"  the  sick  man  went  on,  falling  back 
into  his  drawling  manner,  "itwus  this  ways.  Miss 
Dianny,  she  likes  a  feller  to  git  yarnin',  an',  seein'  as 
I've  been  punchin'  most  all  through  the  States,  she 
kind  o'  notioned  my  yarns.  Which  I  'lows  is  reason- 
able. She'd  fixed  my  chest  up,  an'  got  me  trussed 
neat  an'  all,  an'  set  right  down  aside  me  fer  a  gas. 
You  know  her  ways,  kind  o'  sad  an'  saft.  Wal,  she 
up  an'  tells  me  how  she'd  like  gittin'  in  to  Whitewater 


MOSQUITO  BEND  37 

next  winter,  an'  talked  o'  dances  an'  sech.  Say,  she  wus 
jest  whoopin'  wi'  the  pleasure  o'  the  tho't  of  it.  Guess 
likely  she'd  be  mighty  pleased  to  git  aways.  Wal,  I 
don't  jest  know  how  it  come,  but  I  got  yarnin'  of  a  bar- 
becue as  was  held  down  Arizona  way.  I  was  tellin'  as 
how  I  wus  ther',  an'  got  winged  nasty.  It  wa'n't 
much.  Y'  see  T  was  tellin'  her  as  I  wus  runnin'  a  bit 
of  a  hog  rancn  them  times,  an',  on  o-casions,  we  used 
to  give  parties.  The  pertickler  party  I  wus  referrin'  to 
wus  a  pretty  wholesome  racket.  The  boys  got  good 
an'  drunk,  an'  they  got  slingin'  the  lead  frekent  fore 
daylight  come  around.  Howsum,  it  wus  the  cause  o' 
the  trouble  as  I  wus  gassin'  'bout.  Y'  see.  Brown  was 
one  of  them  juicy  fellers  that  chawed  hun.:s  o'  plug  till 
you  could  nose  Virginny  ev'ry  time  you  got  wi'in  gun- 
shot of  him.  He  was  a  cantankerou?  cuss  was  Brown, 
an'  a  deal  too  free  wi'  his  tongue.  Y'  set  he'd  a  lady 
with  him  ;  leastways  she  wus  the  pot-vvolloper  from  the 
saloon  he  favored,  an*  he  guessed  as  she  wus  most  as 
han'some  as  a  Bible  'lustration.  Wal,  'bout  t^-.e  time 
the  rotgut  wus  flowin'  good  an'  frekent,  they  started  in 
to  pool  fer  the  prettiest  wench  in  the  room,  as  is  the 
custom  down  ther'.  Brown,  he  wus  dead  set  on  his 
gal  winnin',  I  guess  ;  an'  '  Dyke  Hole '  Bill,  he'd  got  a 
pretty  tidy  filly  wi'  him  hisself,  an'  didn't  reckon  as  no 
daisy  from  a  bum  saloon  could  gi'  her  any  sort  o'  start 
Wal,  to  cut  it  short,  I  guess  the  boys  went  dead  out 
fer  Bill's  gal.  It  wus  voted  as  ther'  wa'n't  no  gal 
around  Spawn  City  as  could  dec'rate  the  country  wi' 
sech  beauty,  I  guess  things  went  kind  o'  silent  when 
Shaggy  Steele  read  the  ballot.     The  air  o'  that  place  got 


38  IKii  NIGHT-RIDERS 

uneasy.  I  located  the  door  in  one  gulp.  Y'  see  Brown 
was  alius  kind  o'  sudden.  But  the  trouble  come  diff- 
rent.  The  thing  jest  dropped,  an'  that  party  hummed 
fer  a  whiles.  Brown's  gal  up  an'  let  go.  Sez  she, 
'  Here,  guess  I'm  the  dandy  o'  this  run,  an'  I  ain't  settin' 
around  while  no  old  hen  from  Dyke  Hole  gits  scoopin' 
prizes.  She's  goin'  to  lick  me  till  I  can't  see,  ef  she's 
yearnin*  fer  that  pool.  Mebbe  you  boys  won't  need 
more'n  half  an  eye  to  locate  the  winner  when  I'm  done,' 
Wi'  that  she  peels  her  waist  off'n  her,  an'  I  do  allow 
she  wus  a  fine  chunk.  An'  the  '  Dyke  Hole '  daisy,  she 
wa'n't  no  slouch;  guess  she  wus  jest  bustin'  wi'  fight. 
But  Brown  sticks  his  taller-fat  nose  in  an'  shoots  his 

bazzoo  an' 

**  An'  that's  most  as  fer  as  I  got  when  along  comes 
that  all-fired  '  dead-eyes  '  an'  points  warnin'  at  me  while 
he  ogled  me  with  them  gummy  red  rims  o'  his.  An', 
sez  he,  'You  light  right  out  o'  here  sharp,  Arizona; 
the  place  fer  you  scum's  down  in  the  bunkhouse. 
An'  I'm  not  goin'  to  have  any  skulkin'  up  here,  telling 
disreputable  yarns  to  my  gal.'  I  wus  jest  beginnin'  to 
argyfy.  '  But,'  sez  I.  An'  he  cut  me  short  wi'  a  curse. 
'  Out  of  here  1 '  he  roared.  '  I  give  you  ten  minutes  to 
git ! '  Then  she.  Miss  Dianny,  bless  her,  she  turned  on 
him  quick,  an'  dressed  him  down  handsome.  Sez  she, 
*  Father,  how  can  you  be  so  unkind  after  what  Arizona 
has  done  for  you?  Remember,'  sez  she,  *  he  saved  you 
a  hundred  head  of  cattle,  and  fought  Red  Mask's  gang 
until  help  came  and  he  fell  from  his  hoise/  Ob,  she 
was  a  dandy,  and  heaped  it  on  like  bankin'  a  furnace. 
She  cried  lots  an'  lots,  but  it  didn't  signify.     Out  I  wus 


MOSQUITO  BEND  39 

to  git,  an*  out  I  got.  An'  now  I'll  gamble  that  swine 
Jake'll  try  and  set  me  to  work.  But  I'll  level  him — 
sure." 

One  of  the  men,  Lew  Cawley,  laughed  silently,  and 
then  put  in  a  remark.  Lew  was  a  large  specimen  of 
the  fraternity,  and  history  said  that  he  was  the  son  of 
an  English  cleric.  But  history  says  similar  things  of 
many  ne'er-do-wells  in  the  Northwest.  He  still  used 
the  accent  of  his  forebears. 

"  Old  blind-hunks  knows  something.  With  all  re- 
spect, Arizona  has  winning  ways  ;  but,"  he  added,  be- 
fore the  fiery  Southerner  could  retort,  ''  if  I  mistake  not, 
here  comes  Jake  to  fulfil  Arizona's  prophecy." 

Every  one  swung  round  as  Lew  nodded  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  house.  A  huge  man  of  about  six  feet  five 
was  striding  rapidly  down  the  slope.  Tresler,  who  had 
been  listening  to  the  story  on  the  outskirts  of  the  group, 
eyed  the  newcomer  with  wonder.  He  came  at  a  gait 
in  which  every  movement  displayed  a  vast,  monumen- 
tal strength.  He  had  never  seen  such  physique  in  his 
life.  The  foreman  was  still  some  distance  ofT,  and  he 
could  not  see  his  face,  only  a  great  spread  of  black 
beard  and  whisker.  So  this  was  the  much-cursed  Jake 
Harnach,  and,  he  thought  without  any  particular  pleas- 
ure, his  future  boss. 

There  w^as  no  further  talk.  Jake  Harnach  looked  up 
and  halted.  Then  he  signaled,  and  a  great  shout  came 
to  the  waiting  group. 

**  Hi !  hi !  you  there  !     You  with  the  pants  ! " 

A  snigger  went  round  the  gathering,  and  Tresler 
knew  that  it  was  he  who  was  being  summoned.     He 


40  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

turned  away  to  hide  his  annoyance,  but  was  given  no 
chance  of  escape. 

"  Say,  send  that  guy  with  the  pants  along  !  "  roared 
the  foreman.  And  Tresler  was  forced  into  unwilling 
compliance. 

And  thus  the  two  men,  chiefly  responsible  for  the 
telling  of  this  story  of  Mosquito  Bend,  met.  The  spirit 
of  the  meeting  was  antagonistic ;  a  spirit  which,  in  the 
days  to  come,  was  to  develop  into  a  merciless  hatred. 
Nor  was  the  reason  far  to  seek,  nor  could  it  have 
been  otherwise.  Jake  looked  out  upon  the  world 
through  eyes  that  distorted  everything  to  suit  his  own 
brutal  nature,  while  Tresler's  simple  manliness  was 
the  result  of  his  youthful  training  as  a  public  school- 
boy. 

The  latter  saw  before  him  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty- 
five,  a  man  of  gigantic  stature,  with  a  face  handsome 
in  its  form  of  features,  but  disfigured  by  the  harsh  de- 
pression of  the  black  brows  over  a  pair  of  hard,  bold 
eyes.  The  lower  half  of  his  face  was  buried  beneath  a 
beard  so  dense  and  black  as  to  utterly  disguise  the 
mould  of  his  mouth  and  chin,  thus  leaving  only  the 
harsh  tones  of  his  voice  as  a  clue  to  what  lay  hidden 
there. 

His  dress  was  unremarkable  but  typical — moleskin 
trousers,  a  thin  cotton  shirt,  a  gray  tweed  jacket,  and 
a  silk  handkerchief  about  his  neck.  He  carried  nothing 
in  the  shape  of  weapons,  not  even  the  usual  leather  belt 
and  sheath-knife.  And  in  this  he  was  apart  from  the 
method  of  his  country,  where  the  use  of  firearms  was 
the  practice  in  disputes. 


MOSQUITO  BEND  41 

On  his  part,  Jake  looked  upon  a  well-built  man  five 
fnches  his  inferior  in  stature,  but  a  man  of  good  pro- 
portions, with  a  pair  of  shoulders  that  suggested  possi- 
bilities. But  it  was  the  steady  look  in  the  steel-blue 
eyes  which  told  him  most.  There  was  a  simple  direct- 
ness in  them  which  told  of  a  man  unaccustomed  to  any 
browbeating ;  and,  as  he  gazed  into  them,  he  made  a 
mental  note  that  this  newcomer  must  be  reduced  to  a 
proper  humility  at  the  earUest  opportunity. 

There  was  no  pretense  of  courtesy  between  them 
Neither  offered  to  shake  hands.  Jake  blurted  out  hi 
greeting  in  a  vicious  tone. 

"  Say,  didn't  you  hear  me  callin'  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  I  did."  And  the  New  Englander  looked  quietly 
into  the  eyes  before  him,  but  without  the  least  touch  of 
bravado  or  of  yielding. 

"  Then  w^hy  in  h didn't  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  to  know  you  were  calling  me." 

"Not  to  know?"  retorted  the  other  roughly.  **1 
guess  there  aren't  two  guys  with  pants  like  yours 
around  the  ranch.  Now,  see  right  here,  young  feller, 
you'll  just  get  a  grip  on  the  fact  that  I'm  foreman  of 
this  layout,  and,  as  far  as  the  *  hands '  are  concerned, 
I'm  boss.     When  I  call,  you  come — and  quick." 

The  man  towered  over  Tresler  in  a  bristling  attitude. 
His  hands  were  aggressively  thrust  into  his  jacket 
pockets,  and  he  emphasized  his  final  words  with  a 
scowl.  And  it  was  his  attitude  that  roused  Tresler; 
the  words  were  the  words  of  an  overweening  bully,  and 
might  have  been  laughed  at,  but  the  attitude  said  more, 
and  no  man  likes  to  be  browbeaten.     His  anger  leapt, 


42  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

and,  though  he  held  himself  tigiitiy,  it  found  expression 
in  the  biting  emphasis  of  his  reply. 

"When  Fm  one  of  the  'hand*/  yes,"  he  said  inci- 
sively. 

Jake  stared.  Then  a  curious  sort  of  smile  flitted 
across  his  features. 

"  Hah  1"  he  ejaculated. 

And  Tresler  went  on  with  cold  indifference.  "  And, 
in  the  meantime,  I  may  as  well  say  that  the  primary 
object  of  my  visit  is  to  see  Mr.  Marbolt,  not  his  fore- 
man. That,  I  believe,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the 
building  on  the  hill,  *'  is  his  house.'* 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  he  stepped  aside,  and 
would  have  moved  on.  But  Jake  had  swung  round, 
and  his  hand  fell  heavily  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  No,  you  don't,  my  dandy  cock !  "  he  cried  violently, 
his  fingers  painfully  gripping  the  muscle  under  the 
Norfolk  jacket. 

Springing  aside,  and  with  one  lithe  twist,  in  a  flash 
Tresler  had  released  himself,  and  stood  confronting  the 
giant  with  blazing  eyes  and  tense  dravv-n  muscles. 

**  Lay  a  hand  on  me  again,  and  there'll  be  trouble," 
he  said  sharply,  and  there  was  an  oddly  furious  burr  in 
his  speech. 

The  foreman  stood  for  a  moment  as  words  failed 
him.     Then  his  fury  broke  loose. 

"  I  told  you  jest  now,"  he  cried,  falling  back  into  the 
twang  of  the  country  as  his  rage  mastered  him,  *'  that 
I  run  this  layout " 

**  And  I  tell  you,"  broke  in  the  equally  angry  Tresler, 
"that  I've  nothing  to  do  with  you  or  the  ranch  either 


MOSQUITO  BExND  43 

until  I  have  seen  your  master.  And  I'll  have  you 
know  that  if  there's  any  bulldozing  to  be  done,  you 
can  keep  it  until  1  am  one  of  the  *  hands.'  You  shan't 
lack  opportunity." 

The  tone  was  as  scathing  as  the  violence  of  his 
anger  would  permit.  He  had  not  moved,  except  to 
thrust  his  right  hand  into  his  jacket  pocket,  while  he 
measured  the  foreman  with  his  eyes  and  watched  his 
every  movement. 

He  saw  Harnach  hunch  himself  as  though  to  spring 
at  him.  He  saw  the  great  hands  clench  at  his  sides 
and  his  arms  draw  up  convulsively.  He  saw  the  work- 
ing face  and  the  black  eyes  as  they  half  closed  and 
reduced  themselves  to  mere  slits  beneath  the  over- 
shadowing brows.  Then  the  hoarse,  rage-choked 
voice  came. 

"  By  G !     I'll  smash  you,  you " 

**  I  shouldn't  say  it."  Tresler's  tone  had  suddenly 
changed  to  one  of  icy  coldness.  The  flash  of  a  white 
dress  had  caught  his  eye.  "There's  a  lady  present" 
he  added  abruptly.  And  at  the  same  time  he  released 
his  hold  on  the  smooth  butt  of  a  heavy  revolver  he  had 
been  gripping  in  his  pocket. 

What  might  have  happened  but  for  the  timely  inter- 
ruption it  would  be  impossible  to  say.  Jake's  arms 
dropped  to  his  sides,  and  his  attitude  relaxed  with  a 
suddenness  that  was  almost  ludicrous.  The  white 
dress  fluttered  toward  him,  and  Tresler  turned  and 
raised  his  prairie  hat.  He  gave  the  foreman  no  heed 
whatever.  The  man  might  never  have  been  there. 
He  took  a  step  forward. 


44  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Miss  Marbolt,  I  believe,"  he  said.  '*  Forgive  me, 
but  it  seems  tiiat,  being  a  stranger,  I  must  introduce 
myself.  I  am  John  Tresler.  I  have  just  been  f>erform- 
ing  the  same  ceremony  for  your  father's  foreman's 
benefit.     Can  I  see  Mr.  Marbolt?" 

He  was  looking  down  into  what  he  thought  at  the 
moment  was  the  sweetest,  saddest  little  face  he  had 
ever  seen.  It  was  dark  with  sunburn,  in  contrast  with 
the  prim  white  drill  dress  the  girl  wore,  and  her  cheeks 
were  tinged  with  a  healthy  color  which  might  have 
been  a  reflection  of  the  rosy  tint  of  the  ribbon  about 
her  neck.  But  it  was  the  quiet,  dark  brown  eyes,  half 
wistful  and  wholly  sad,  and  the  slight  droop  at  the 
corners  of  the  pretty  mouth,  that  gave  him  his  first 
striking  impression.  She  was  a  delightful  picture,  but 
one  of  great  melancholy,  quite  out  of  keeping  with  her 
youth  and  fresh  beauty. 

She  looked  up  at  him  from  under  the  brim  of  a  wide 
straw  sun-hat,  trimmed  with  a  plain  silk  handkerchief, 
and  pinned  to  her  wealth  of  curling  brown  hair  so  as 
to  give  her  face  the  utmost  shade.  Then  she  frankly 
held  out  her  hand  in  welcome  to  him,  whilst  her  eyes 
questioned  his,  for  she  had  witnessed  the  scene  between 
the  two  men  and  overheard  their  words.  But  Tresler 
listened  to  her  greeting  with  a  disarming  smile  on  his 
face. 

**  Welcome,  Mr.  Tresler,"  she  said  gravely.  "We 
have  been  expecting  you.  But  Fm  afraid  you  can't 
see  father  just  now.  He's  sleeping.  He  always  sleeps 
in  the  afternoon.  You  see,  daylight  or  night,  it  makes 
no  difference  to  him.     He's  blind.     He  has  drifted  into 


MOSQUITO  BEND  45 

a  curious  habit  of  sleeping  in  the  day  as  well  as  at 
night.  Possibly  it  is  a  blessing,  and  helps  hina  to  for- 
get his  affliction.  I  am  always  careful,  in  consequence, 
not  to  waken  him.  But  come  along  up  to  the  house ; 
you  must  have  some  lunch,  and,  later,  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  You  are  awfully  kind." 

Tresler  v/atched  a  troubled  look  that  crept  into  the 
calm  expression  of  her  eyes.  Then  he  looked  on  while 
she  turned  and  dismissed  the  discomfited  foreman. 

**  I  shan't  ride  this  afternoon,  Jake,"  she  said  coldly. 
"  You  might  have  Bessie  shod  for  me  instead.  Her 
hoofs  are  getting  very  long."  Then  she  turned  again 
to  her  guest     "  Come,  Mr.  Tresler." 

And  the  New  Englander  readily  complied. 

Nor  did  he  even  glance  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
foreman. 

Jake  cursed,  not  audibly,  but  with  such  hateful  in- 
tensity that  even  the  mat  of  beard  and  moustache 
parted,  and  the  cruel  mouth  and  clenched  teeth  be- 
neath were  revealed.  His  eyes,  too,  shone  with  a  dia- 
bolical light.  For  the  moment  Tresler  was  master  of 
the  situation,  but,  as  Jake  had  said,  he  was  "boss"  of 
that  ranch.     "  Boss"  with  him  did  not  mean  "  owner.'' 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   BLIND   MAN 

Tresler  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  leave  Jake  Har* 
nach  behind  him,  but  he  looked  very  serious  as  he  and 
his  companion  moved  on  to  the  house.  The  result  of 
his  meeting  with  the  foreman  would  come  back  on  hini 
later,  he  knew,  and  it  was  as  well  that  he  was  pre^ 
pared.  The  meeting  had  been  unfortunate,  but,  judg- 
ing by  what  he  had  heard  of  Jake  in  Forks,  he  must 
inevitably  have  crossed  the  bully  sooner  or  later ;  Jake 
himself  would  have  seen  to  that. 

Diane  Marbolt  paused  as  she  came  to  the  verandah. 
They  had  not  spoken  since  their  greeting.  Now  she 
turned  abruptly,  and  quietly  surveyed  her  guest.  Nor 
was  there  any  rudeness  in  her  look.  Tresler  felt  that 
he  was  undergoing  a  silent  cross-examination,  and 
waited,  quietly  smiling  down  at  her  from  his  superior 
height. 

At  last  she  smiled  up  at  him  and  nodded. 

"Will  I  do?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  so." 

It  was  a  curious  position,  and  they  both  laughed. 
But  in  the  girl's  manner  there  was  no  levity. 

*'  You  are  not  sure  ?  Is  there  anything  wrong  about 
me  ?     My — my  dress,  for  instance  ? "    Tresler  laughed 


THE  BLIND  MAN  47 

again  ;  he  had  missed  the  true  significance  of  his  com- 
panion's attitude  toward  him. 

Just  for  a  moment  the  dark  Htde  face  took  on  a  look 
of  perplexity.  Then  the  pucker  of  the  brows  smoothed 
out,  and  she  smiled  demurely  as  she  answered. 

**  Oh,  I  see — no,"  doubtfully.  Then  more  decidedly, 
"  No.  You  see,  you  are  a  *  tenderfoot.'  You'll  get 
over  it  later  on." 

And  the  last  barrier  of  formality  was  set  aside. 

"  Good,"  exclaimed  Tresler,  emphatically.  ''  We 
are  going  to  be  friends,  Miss  Marbolt.  I  knew  it.  It 
was  only  that  I  feared  that  'they'  might  ruin  my 
chances  of  your  approbation.  You  see,  they've  already 
caused  me — er — trouble." 

*'  Yes,  I  think  we  shall  be  friends,"  Diane  answered 
quietly.  ''  In  the  meantime,  come  along  into  the  house 
and  have  your  lunch.  It  is  ready-  I  saw  you  coming 
and  so  prepared  it  at  once.  You  will  not  mind  ii 
I  sit  and  look  on  while  you  eat.  I  have  had  mine.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  before  you  see  my  father." 

There  was  distinct  anxiety  in  her  manner.  More 
surely  than  all,  her  eyes  betrayed  her  uneasiness. 
However,  he  gave  no  sign,  contenting  himself  with  a 
cordial  reply. 

**  You  are  very  kind.  I  too  should  like  a  chat.  You 
see,  I  am  a  'tenderfoot,'  and  you  have  been  kind 
enough  to  pass  over  my  shortcomings." 

Diane  led  the  way  into  the  house.  And  Tresler,  fol- 
lowing her,  was  struck  with  the  simple  comfort  of  this 
home  in  the  wilds.  It  was  a  roomy  two-storied  house, 
unpretentious,    but    very    capacious.      They    entered 


48  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

through  one  of  three  French  windows  what  was  evi» 
dently  a  useful  sort  of  drawing-room-parlor.  Beyond 
this  they  crossed  a  hallway,  the  entrance  door  of  which 
stood  open,  and  passed  into  a  dining-room,  which,  ir 
its  turn,  opened  directly  into  a  kitchen  beyond.  Thi. 
room  looked  out  on  the  woods  at  the  back.  Diane  ex- 
plained that  her  father's  sanctum  was  in  front  of  this, 
while  behind  the  parlor  was  his  bedroom,  opposite 
the  dining-room  and  kitchen.  The  rooms  up-stairs 
were  bedrooms,  and  her  own  private  parlor. 

"  You  see,  we  keep  no  female  servants,  Mr.  Tresler," 
the  girl  said,  as  she  brought  a  pot  of  steaming  coffee 
from  the  kitchen  and  set  it  on  the  table.  "  I  am  house- 
keeper. Joe  Nelson,  the  choreman,  is  my  helper  and 
does  all  the  heavy  work.     He's  quite  a  character.'' 

"Yes,  T  know.  I've  met  him,"  observed  Tresler, 
dryly. 

"  Ah  !  Try  tha»-  bam.  I  don't  know  about  the  cold 
pie,  it  may  be  tough.  Yes,  old  Joe  is  an  Englishman  ; 
at  least,  he  was,  but  he's  quite  Americanized  now.  He 
spent  forty  years  in  Texas.  He's  really  an  educated 
man.  Owned  a  nice  ranch  and  got  burned  out. 
I'm  very  fond  of  him ;  but  it  isn't  of  Joe  I  want  to 
talk." 

''  No.*' 

The  man  helped  himself  to  the  ham  and  veal  pie, 
and  found  it  anything  but  tough. 

Diane  seated  herself  in  a  chair  with  her  back  to  the 
uncurtained  window,  through  which  the  early  summer 
sun  was  staring. 

**  You  have  met  Jake  Harnach  and  made  an  enemy 


THE  BLIND  MAN  49 

of  him,"  she  said  suddenly,  and  with  simple  direct- 
ness. 

"  Yes  ;  the  latter  must  have  come  anyway." 

The  girl  sighed,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  a  brooding 
light.  And  Tresler,  glancing  at  her,  recognized  the 
sadness  cf  expression  he  had  noticed  at  their  first 
meeting,  and  which,  he  was  soon  to  learn,  was  habitual 
to  her. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  murmured  in  response.  Then 
she  roused  herself,  and  spoke  almost  sharply.  "  What 
would  you  have  done  had  he  struck  you  ?  He  is  a 
man  of  colossal  strength." 

Tresler  laughed  easily.  "  That  depends.  I'm  not 
quite  sure.  I  should  probably  have  done  my  best  to 
retaliate.  I  had  an  alternative.  I  might  have  shot 
him." 

*'  Oh  ! "  the  girl  said  with  impulsive  horror. 

"  Well,  what  would  you  have  ?  "  Tresler  raised  his 
eyebrows  and  turned  his  astonished  eyes  upon  her. 
"  Was  I  to  stand  lamb-like  and  accept  a  thrashing  from 
that  unconscionable  rufftan?  No,  no,"  he  shook  his 
head.  "  I  see  it  in  your  eyes.  You  condemn  the 
method,  but  not  the  man.  Remember,  we  all  have  a 
right  to  live — if  we  can.  Maybe  there's  no  absolute 
necessity  that  we  should,  but  still  we  are  permitted  to 
do  our  best.  That's  the  philosophy  I've  had  ham- 
mered into  me  with  the  various  thrashings  the  school 
bullies  at  home  have  from  time  to  time  administered. 
I  should  certainly  have  done  my  best." 

"  And  if  you  had  done  either  of  these  things,  I 
judder  to  think  what  would  have  happened.     It  was 


50  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

unfortunate,  terribly  unfortunate.  You  do  not  know 
Jake  Harnach.  Oh,  Mr.  Tresler,"  the  girl  hurried  on, 
leaning  suddenly  forward  in  her  chair,  and  reaching 
out  until  her  small  brown  hand  rested  on  his  arm, 
"  please,  please  promise  me  that  you  won't  run  foul  of 
Jake.  He  is  terrible.  You  don't,  you  can't  know  him, 
or  you  would  understand  your  danger." 

*'  On  the  contrary,  Miss  Marbolt.  It  is  because  I 
know  a  great  deal  of  him  that  I  should  be  ready  to  re- 
taliate very  forcibly.  I  thank  my  stars  I  do  know  him. 
Had  I  not  known  of  him  before,  your  ow^n  words 
w^ould  have  warned  me  to  be  ready  for  all  emergencies. 
Jake  must  go  his  way  and  I'll  go  mine.  I  am  here  to 
learn  ranching,  not  to  submit  to  any  bulldozing.  But 
let  us  forget  Jake  for  the  moment,  and  talk  of  some- 
thing more  pleasant.  What  a  charming  situation  the 
ranch  has  1 " 

The  girl  dropped  back  in  her  chair.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  decision  of  her  visitor's  words.  She 
felt  that  no  persuasion  of  hers  could  alter  him.  With 
an  effort  she  contrived  to  answer  him. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  spot.  You  have  not  yet  had 
time  to  appreciate  the  perfections  of  our  surround- 
ings," She  paused  for  him  to  speak,  but  as  he  re- 
mained silent  she  labored  on  with  her  thoughts  set 
on  other  things.  "  The  foot-hills  come  right  down 
almost  to  our  very  doors.  And  then  in  the  distance, 
above  them,  are  the  white  caps  of  the  mountains.  We 
are  sheltered,  as  no  doubt  you  have  seen,  by  the  almost 
inaccessible  wall  beyond  the  river,  and  the  pinewoods 
screen   us    from    the   northeast   and   north    winds   of 


THE  BLIND  MAN  51 

winter.  South  and  east  are  miles  and  miles  of  prairie- 
lands.  Father  has  been  here  for  eighteen  years.  I  was 
a  child  of  four  when  we  came.  Whitewater  was  a 
mere  settlement  then,  and  Forks  wasn't  even  in  exist- 
ence. We  hadn't  a  neighbor  nearer  than  Whitewater 
in  those  days,  except  the  Indians  and  half-breeds. 
They  were  rough  times,  and  father  held  his  place  only 
by  the  subtlety  of  his  poor  blind  brain,  and  the  arms 
of  the  men  he  had  with  him.  Jake  has  been  with  us 
as  long  as  I  can  remember.  So  you  see,"  she  added, 
returning  to  her  womanly  dread  for  his  safety,  "  I 
know  Jake.  My  warning  is  not  the  idle  fear  of  a  silly 
girl." 

Tresler  remained  silent  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then 
he  asked  sharply  — 

"  Why  does  your  father  keep  him  ?  " 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders.  *'  Jake  is  the 
finest  ranchman  in  the  country." 

And  in  the  silence  that  followed  Tresler  helped 
himself  to  more  coffee,  and  finished  off  with  cheese 
and  crackers.  Neither  seemed  inclined  to  break  up 
the  awkwardness  of  the  pause.  For  the  time  the 
man's  thoughts  were  wandering  in  interested  specula- 
tion as  to  the  possibilities  of  his  future  on  the  ranch. 
He  was  not  thinking  so  much  of  Jake,  nor  even  of 
Julian  Marbolt.  It  was  of  the  gentler  associations  with 
the  girl  beside  him — associations  he  had  never  antici- 
pated in  his  v/ildest  thoughts.  She  was  no  prairie-bred 
girl.  Her  speech,  her  manner,  savored  too  much  of 
civilization.  Yes,  he  decided  in  his  mind,  although  she 
claimed  Mosquito  Bend   as  her  home  since   she  was 


52  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

four,  she  had  been  educated  elsewhere.  His  thoughts 
were  suddenly  cut  short.  A  faint  sound  caught  his 
quick  ears.  Then  Diane's  voice,  questioning  him,  re- 
called his  wandering  attention. 

"  I  understand  you  intend  to  stay  with  us  for  three 
years  ?  " 

*'  Just  as  long  as  it  will  take  to  learn  all  the  business 
of  a  ranch,'^  he  answered  readily.  **  I  am  going  to  be- 
come one  of  the " 

Again  he  heard  the  peculiar  noise,  and  he  broke  ofif 
listening.  Diane  was  listening  too.  It  was  a  soft  tap, 
tap,  like  some  one  knocking  gendy  upon  a  curtained 
door.  It  was  irregular,  intermittent,  like  the  tapping 
of  a  telegraph-sounder  working  very  slowly. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  girl  had  risen,  and  a  puzzled  look  was  in  her 
eyes.  **The  noise?  Oh,  it's  father,"  she  said,  with  a 
shadowy  smile,  and  in  a  lowered  tone.  "  Something 
must  have  disturbed  him.  It  is  unusual  for  him  to  be 
awake  so  early." 

Now  they  heard  a  door  open,  and  the  tapping 
ceased.  Then  the  door  closed  and  the  lock  turned.  A 
moment  later  there  came  the  jingle  of  keys,  and  then 
shuffling  footsteps  accompanied  the  renewed  tapping. 

Tresler  was  still  listening.  He  had  turned  toward 
the  door,  and  while  his  attention  was  fixed  on  the  com- 
ing of  the  blind  rancher,  he  was  yet  aware  that  Diane 
was  clearing  the  table  with  what  seemed  to  him  un- 
necessary haste  and  noise.  However,  his  momentary 
interest  was  centred  upon  the  doorway  and  the  passage 
outside,  and  he  paid  little  heed  to  the  girl's  movements. 


THE  BUND  MAN  53 

The  door  stood  open,  and  as  he  looked  out  the  sound 
of  shuffling  feet  drew  nearer ;  then  a  figure  passed  the 
opening. 

It  was  gone  in  a  moment.  But  in  that  moment  he 
caught  sight  of  a  tall  man  wrapped  in  the  gray  folds 
of  a  dressing-gown  that  reached  to  his  feet.  That, 
and  the  sharp  outline  of  a  massive  head  of  close- 
cropped  gray  hair.  The  face  was  lost,  all  except  the 
profile.  He  saw  a  long,  high-bridged  nose  and  a 
short,  crisp  grayish  beard.  The  tapping  of  the  stick 
died  slowly  away.  And  he  knew  that  the  blind  man 
had  passed  out  on  to  the  verandah. 

Now  he  turned  again  to  the  girl,  and  would  have 
spoken,  but  she  raised  a  warning  finger  and  shook  her 
head.  Then,  moving  toward  the  door,  she  beckoned 
to  him  to  follow. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

*'  Father,  this  is  Mr.  Tresler." 

Tresler  found  himself  looking  down  upon  a  remark- 
able face.  He  acknow^ledged  Diane's  introduction,  for- 
getful, for  the  moment,  of  the  man's  sightless  eyes.  He 
gripped  the  outstretched  hand  heartily,  while  he  took 
in  his  first  impression  of  a  strange  personality. 

They  were  out  on  the  verandah.  The  rancher  w^as 
sitting  in  a  prim,  uncushioned  armchair.  He  had  a 
strong,  well-moulded,  pale  face,  the  sightless  eyes  of 
which  held  the  attention.  Tresler  at  once  appreciated 
Shaky's  description  of  them. 

They  were  dreadful  eyes.  The  pupils  were  tliere, 
and,  in  a  measure,  appeared  natural  except  for  their 
enormous  size.     They  w^ere  black,  jet  black,  and  divided 


54  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

from  what  should  have  been  the  whites  by  minute  rings 
of  blue,  the  only  suspicion  of  iris  they  possessed.  But 
it  was  the  w^hites  that  gave  them  their  dreadful  expres- 
sion. They  were  scarlet  with  inflammation — an  inflam- 
mation which  extended  to  the  rims  of  the  lids  and  had 
eaten  away  the  lashes.  Of  the  rest  of  the  face  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  form  much  of  an  opinion.  The 
iron-gray  brows  were  depressed  as  though  with  physical 
pain,  and  so  obliterated  all  natural  expression.  And 
the  beard  shut  out  the  indications  which  the  mouth  and 
chin  might  have  afforded. 

''You're  welcome,  Mr,  Tresler,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
gentle  tone.     "  I  knew  you  were  here  some  time  ago." 

Tresler  was  astonished  at  the  quiet  refinement  of  his 
voice.  He  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  the  high, 
raucous  twang  of  the  men  of  these  wilds  that  it  came  as 
a  surprise  to  him. 

"  I  hope  I  didn't  disturb  you,"  he  answered  cheerily. 
*'  Miss  Marbolt  told  me  you  were  sleeping,  and " 

"  You  didn't  disturb  me — at  least,  not  in  the  way  you 
mean.  You  see,  I  have  developed  a  strange  sensitive- 
ness— a  sort  of  second  sight,"  he  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 
"  I  awoke  by  instinct  the  moment  you  approached  the 
house,  and  heard  you  come  in.  The  loss  of  one  sense, 
you  see,  has  made  others  more  acute.  Weil,  w^ell,  so 
you  have  come  to  learn  ranching  ?  Diane  " — the  blind 
man  turned  to  his  daughter — "describe  Mr.  Tresler  to 
me.  What  does  he  look  like  ?  Forgive  me,  my  deai- 
sir,"  he  went  on,  turning  with  unerring  instinct  to  the 
other.  "  I  glean  a  perfect  knowledge  of  those  about 
me  in  this  way." 


THE  BLIND  MAN  55 

"  Certainly."  The  object  of  the  blind  man's  interest 
smiled  over  at  the  girl. 

Diane  hesitated  in  some  confusion. 

"  Go  on,  child,"  her  father  said,  with  a  touch  of 
impatience  in  his  manner. 

Thus  urged  she  began.  '  Mr.  Tresler  is  tall.  Six 
feet.     Broad-shouldered." 

The  man's  red,  staring  eyes  were  bent  on  his  pupil 
with  a  steady  persistency. 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  he  urged,  as  the  girl  paused. 

"  Dressed  in — er  fashionable  riding  costume." 

*'  His  face  ?  " 

"  Black  hair,  steel-blue  eyes,  black  eyelashes  and 
brows.     Broad  forehead " 

"  Any  lines?  "  questioned  the  blind  man. 

**  Only  two  strong  marks  between  the  brows.*' 

*'  Go  on." 

"  Broad-bridged,  rather  large  nose ;  well-shaped 
mouth,  with  inclination  to  droop  at  the  corners ;  broad, 
split  chin  ;  well-rounded  cheeks  and  jaw." 

*'  Ha  !  clean-shaven,  of  course — yes." 

The  rancher  sat  silent  for  some  moments  after  Diane 
had  finished  her  description.  His  lips  moved,  as 
though  he  were  talking  to  himself;  but  no  words  came 
to  those  waiting.  At  last  he  stirred,  and  roused  from 
his  reverie. 

"  You  come  from  Springfield,  Mr.  Tresler,  I  under- 
stand ?"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Um.  New  England.  A  good  country  that  breeds 
g^ood  men,"  he  nodded,  with  an  expression  that  was 


56  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

almost  a  smile.  ''  I'm  glad  to  be  able  to  welcome  you  ; 
I  only  wish  I  could  see.  However,"  he  went  on  kindly, 
**  you  will  be  able  to  learn  ranching  in  all  its  branches 
here.  We  breed  horses  and  cattle.  You'll  find  it 
rough.  My  foreman  is  not  exactly  gentle,  but,  believe 
me,  he  knows  his  business.  He  is  the  finest  ranchman 
in  the  country,  and  I  owe  much  of  my  success  to  him. 
You  must  get  on  the  right  side  of  Jake,  though.  It 
requires  finding — the  right  side,  I  mean — but  it  is  worth 
seeking." 

Tresler  smiled  as  he  listened.  He  thoroughly  agreed 
with  the  reference  to  the  difficulty  of  finding  Jake's 
** right"  side.  He  endeavored  to  catch  Diane's  eye, 
but  she  avoided  his  gaze.  As  the  rancher  paused,  he 
broke  in  at  once. 

**  I  presume  I  start  work  in  earnest  to-morrow  morn- 
ing?" 

The  blind  man  shook  his  head.  **  No  ;  better  start 
in  to-day.  Our  agreement  reads  to-day  ;  it  must  not 
be  broken.  You  take  your  position  as  one  of  the 
hands,  and  will  be  under  the  control  of  Jake  Harnach." 

"  We  can  have  tea  first,  though,"  put  in  Diane,  who 
had  followed  her  father's  words  with  what  seemed 
unnecessary  closeness. 

"Tut,  tut,  child,"  he  replied  impatiently.  "Yes,  we 
will  have  tea.  'Tis  all  you  think  of.  See  to  it,  and 
bring  Tresler  a  chair ;  I  must  talk  to  him." 

His  words  were  a  dismissal ;  and  after  Diane  had 
provided  a  chair,  she  retired  into  the  house,  leaving 
apprentice  and  master  alone.  And  the  two  men  talked, 
as  men  will  talk  who  have  just  come  together  from  the 


THE  BLIND  MAN  57 

ends  of  the  world.  Tresler  avoided  the  details  of  his 
journey  ;  nor  did  the  blind  man  seem  in  any  way  inter- 
ested in  his  personal  affairs.  It  was  the  news  of  men, 
and  matters  concerning  the  world,  that  they  discussed. 
And  the  rancher's  information  and  remarks,  and  keen, 
incisive  questions,  set  the  newcomer  wondering.  He 
watched  the  face  before  him,  the  red,  sightless  eyes. 
He  studied  the  quiet,  gentle-voiced  man,  as  one  may 
study  an  abstruse  problem.  The  result  was  dishearten- 
ing. One  long,  weary  expression  of  pain  was  all  he 
beheld ;  no  lights  and  shades  of  emotion  and  interest. 
It  was  the  face  of  one  grown  patient  under  a  lifelong 
course  of  suffering.  Tresler  had  listened  to  the  bitter 
cursings  against  this  man,  but  as  the  soft  voice  and 
cultured  expressions  fell  upon  his  ears,  the  easy-flowing, 
pointed  criticisms  on  matters  of  public  interest,  the 
broad  philosophy,  sometimes  faintly  dashed  with  bitter- 
ness and  cynicism,  but  always  sound,  he  found  it  hard 
to  associate  him  with  the  significant  sobriquet  of  the 
ranch.  Tea-time  found  him  still  wrestling  with  the 
unsolved  problem.  But,  with  the  advent  of  Diane  with 
the  table  and  laden  tray,  he  set  it  aside  for  future 
study. 

For  the  next  half-hour  he  transferred  his  attention  to 
the  relations  between  father  and  daughter,  as  they 
chatted  pleasantly  of  the  ranching  prospects  of  the 
country,  for  the  benefit  of  their  visitor.  This  was  a 
lesser  problem,  and  one  he  came  near  to  achieving. 
Before  he  left  them,  he  resolved  that  Diane  stood  in 
great  awe,  not  to  say  fear,  of  her  father.  This  to  him 
was  astonishing,  judging  by  the  strength  of  character 


58  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

every  feature  in  her  face  displayed.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  she  was  striving  hard  to  bestow  affection  on  him — 
trying  to  create  an  affection  that  had  no  place  in  her 
heart.  Her  efforts  were  painfully  apparent.  She 
convinced  him  at  once  of  a  lively  sense  of  duty — a  sense 
she  was  carrying  to  a  point  that  was  almost  piti^::ii. 
All  this  he  felt  sure  of,  but  it  w^as  the  man  who  finally 
baffled  him  as  he  had  baffled  him  before.  How  he 
regarded  Diane  it  was  impossible  to  say.  Sometimes 
he  could  have  sworn  that  the  man's  devotion  to  her  was 
that  of  one  who,  helpless,  clings  to  a  support  which 
never  fails  him  ;  at  others,  he  treated  her  to  a  sneering 
intolerance,  which  roused  the  young  man's  ire;  and, 
again,  he  would  change  his  tone,  till  the  undercurrent 
of  absolute  hatred  drowned  the  studied  courtesy  which 
veneered  it.  And  when  he  finally  rose  to  leave  the 
verandah  and  seek  out  the  foreman  and  report  himself 
for  duty,  it  was  with  a  genuine  feeling  of  relief  at  leav- 
ing the  presence  of  those  dreadful  red  eyes. 

Diane  was  packing  up  the  tea-things,  and  Tresler  still 
lingered  on  the  verandah ;  he  was  watching  the  blind 
man  as  he  tapped  his  way  into  the  house.  Then,  as 
he  disappeared,  and  the  sound  of  his  shuffling  feet 
grew  faint  and  distant,  he  became  aware  that  Diane 
was  standing  holding  the  tray  and  watching  him.  He 
knew,  too,  by  her  attentive  attitude,  that  she  Vv^as  ..oten- 
ing  to  ascertain  when  her  father  should  be  out  of  ear- 
shot. As  the  sounds  died  away,  and  all  became  silent 
within  the  house,  she  came  over  to  him.  She  spoke 
without  pausing  on  her  way ;  it  seemed  that  she  feared 
observation. 


THE  BLIND  MAN  59 

"  Don't  forget,  Mr.  Tresler,  what  I  told  you  about 
Jake.  Be  warned.  In  spite  of  what  you  say,  you  do 
not  know  him." 

'*  Thanks,  Miss  Marbolt,"  he  replied  warmly ;  '*  I 
shall  not  forget." 

Diane  was  about  to  speak  again,  but  the  voice  of  her 
father,  harsh  and  strident  enough  now,  reached  them 
from  the  hallway. 

*'  Come  in,  child,  and  let  Tresler  go  to  his  v\'ork." 

And  Tresler  noted  the  expression  of  fear  that  leapt 
into  the  girl's  face  as  she  hurriedly  passed  into  the 
house.  He  stood  for  a  moment  wrathful  and  wonder- 
ing ;  then  he  strode  away  toward  the  corrals,  reflecting 
on  the  strange  events  which  had  so  swiftly  followed  one 
upon  the  other. 

**  Ye  gods,"  he  muttered,  "this  is  a  queer  place — and 
these  are  queer  people." 

Then  as  he  saw  the  great  figure  of  Jake  coming  up 
the  hill  toward  him,  from  the  direction  of  a  small  iso- 
lated hut,  he  went  out  to  meet  him,  unconsciously 
squaring  himself  as  he  drew  near. 

He  expected  an  explosion ;'  at  least  an  angry  dem- 
onstration. But  nothing  of  the  sort  happened.  The 
whole  attitude  of  the  man  had  changed  to  one  of 
studied  a'xiubility.  Not  only  that,  but  his  diction  was 
careful  to  a  degree,  as  though  he  were  endeavoring  to 
impress  this  man  from  the  East  with  his  superiority 
over  the  other  ranchmen. 

"  Well  ?     You  have  seen  him  ?  " 

*'  Yes.  I  have  now  come  to  report  myself  ready  for 
work,"   Tresler  replied  at  once.     He  adopted  a  cold 


60  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

business  tone,  deeming  it  best  to  observe  this  from  the 
start. 

To  his  surprise  Jake  became  almost  cordial.  "  Good. 
We  can  do  with  some  hands,  sure.  Had  a  pleasant 
talk  with  the  old  man  ?  "  The  question  came  indiffer- 
ently, but  a  sidelong  glance  accompanied  it  as  the  fore- 
man turned  away  and  gazed  out  over  the  distant 
prairie. 

''  I  have,'^  replied  Tresler,  shortly.  **  What  are  my 
orders,  and  where  do  I  sleep  ?  " 

"Then  you  don't  sleep  up  at  the  house?"  Jake  in- 
quired, pretending  surprise.  There  was  a  slight  acid- 
ity in  his  tone. 

"  That  is  hardly  to  be  expected  when  the  foreman 
sleeps  down  there."  Tresler  nodded,  indicating  the  out- 
buildings. 

'•  That's  so,"  observed  the  other,  thoughtfully.  *'  No, 
I  guess  the  old  man  don't  fancy  folk  o'  your  kidney 
around,"  he  went  on,  relapsing  into  the  speech  of  the 
bunkhouse  unguardedly.  "  Mebbe  it's  different  wi' 
the  other." 

Tresler  could  have  struck  him  as  he  beheld  the  mean- 
ing smile  that  accompanied  the  fellow's  words. 

"  Where  do  I  sleep  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you'll  roll  into  the  bunkhouse.  Likely 
the  boys'll  fix  you  for  blankets  till  your  truck  comes 
along.  As  for  orders,  why,  we  start  work  at  sunup, 
and  Slushy  dips  out  breakfast  before  that.  Guess  I'll 
put  you  to  work  in  the  morning ;  you  can't  do  a  deal 
yet,  but  maybe  you'll  leara" 

''Then  I'm  not  wanted  to-night?" 


THE  BLIND  MAN  6l 

"  Guess  not."  Jake  broke  off.  Then  he  turned 
sharply  and  faced  his  man.  **  I've  just  one  word  to  say 
to  you  'fore  you  start  in,"  he  went  on.  **  We  kind  o' 
make  allowance  fer  *  tenderfeet '  around  here — once. 
After  that,  we  deal  accordin' — savee?  Say,  ther'  ain't 
no  tea-parties  customary  around  this  layout." 

Tresler  smiled.  If  he  had  been  killed  for  it  he  must 
have  smiled.  In  that  last  remark  the  worthy  Jake  had 
shown  his  hand.  And  the  latter  saw  the  smile,  and 
his  face  darkened  with  swift-rising  anger.  But  he 
had  evidently  made  up  his  mind  not  to  be  drawn,  for, 
with  a  curt  '*  S'long,"  he  abruptly  strode  off,  leaving 
the  other  to  make  his  way  to  the  bunkhouse. 

The  men  had  not  yet  come  in  for  their  evening  meal, 
but  he  found  Arizona  disconsolately  sitting  on  a  roll  of 
blankets  just  outside  the  door  of  the  quarters.  He  was 
chewing  steadily,  with  his  face  turned  prairie  ward, 
gazing  out  over  the  tawny  plains  as  though  nothing 
else  in  the  world  mattered  to  him. 

He  looked  up  casually  as  Tresler  came  along,  and 
edged  along  the  blankets  to  make  room,  contenting 
himself  with  a  laconic  — 

"  Set." 

The  two  men  sat  in  silence  for  some  moments.  The 
pale-faced  cowpuncher  seemed  absorbed  in  deep  reflec- 
tion. Tresler  was  thinking  too  ;  he  was  thinking  of 
Jake,  whom  he  clearly  understood  was  in  love  with  his 
employer's  daughter.  It  was  patent  to  the  veriest  sim- 
pleton. Not  only  that,  but  he  felt  that  Diane  herself 
knew  it.  The  way  the  foreman  had  desisted  from  his 
murderous  onslaught  upon  himself  at  her  coming  was 


62  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

sufficient  evidence  without  the  jealousy  he  had  be- 
trayed in  his  reference  to  ^.ea-parties.  Now  he  under- 
stood, too,  that  it  was  because  the  blind  man  was 
asleep,  and  in  going  up  to  the  house  he,  Tresler,  would 
only  meet  Diane,  and  probably  spend  a  pleasant  after- 
noon with  her  until  her  father  awoke,  that  Jake's  un- 
reasoning jealousy  had  been  aroused,  and  he  had  en- 
deavored to  forcibly  detain  him.  He  felt  glad  that  he 
had  learned  these  things  so  soon.  All  such  details 
would  be  useful. 

At  last  Arizona  turned  from  his  impassive  contem- 
plation of  the  prairie. 

"Wal?"  he  questioned.  And  he  conveyed  a  world 
of  interrogation  in  his  monosyllable. 

*'  Jake  says  I  begin  work  to-morrow.  To-night  I 
sleep  in  the  bunkhouse." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"You  know?"  Tresler  looked  around  in  astonish- 
ment. 

**  Guess  Jake's  bin  'long.  Say,  I'll  shoot  that  feller, 
sure — 'less  some  interferin'  cuss  gits  along  an'  does 
him  in  fust." 

*'  What's  up  ?     Anything  fresh  ?  " 

For  answer  Arizona  spat  forcibly  into  the  little  pool 
of  tobacco-juice  on  the  ground  before  him.  Then,  with 
a  vicious  clenching  of  the  teeth  — 

*'  He's  a  swine." 

**  Which  is  a  libel  on  hogs,"  observed  the  other,  with 
a  smile. 

*' Libel?"  cried  Arizona,  his  wild  eyes  rolling,  and 
his  lean  nostrils  dilating  as  his  breath  came  short  and 


THE  BLIND  MAN  63 

quick.  **  Yes,  grin  ;  grin  like  a  blazin'  six-foot  ape. 
Mebbe  y'll  chi/nge  that  grin  later,  when  I  tell  you  what 
he's  done." 

"  Nothing  he  could  do  would  surprise  me  after  hav- 
ing met  him." 

"  No."  Arizona  had  calmed  again.  His  volcanic 
nature  was  a  study.  Tresler,  although  he  had  only 
just  met  this  man,  liked  him  for  his  very  wildness. 
"  Say,  pardner,"  he  went  on  quietly,  reaching  one  long, 
lean  hand  toward  him,  *'  shake !  I  guess  I  owe  you 
gratitood  fer  bluffin*  that  hog.  We  see  it  all.  Say, 
you've  got  grit."  And  the  fierce  eyes  looked  into  the 
other's  face. 

Tresler  shook  the  proffered  hand  heartily.  '*  But 
what's  his  latest  achievement  ? "  he  asked,  eager  to 
learn  the  fresh  development. 

**  He  come  along  here  'bout  you.  Sed  we  wus  to  fix 
you  up  in  pore  Dave  Steele's  bunk." 

*'  Yes  ?  That's  good.  I  rather  expected  he'd  have 
me  sleep  on  the  floor  " 

Arizona  gave  a  snort.  His  anger  was  rising  again, 
but  he  checked  it. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on,  *'  guess  you  don't  know  a  heap. 
Ther*  ain't  bin  a  feller  slep  in  that  bunk  since  Dave — 
went  away." 

'*  Why?"     Tresler's  interest  was  agog. 

"  Why  ?  "  Arizona's  voice  rose.  **  'Cos  it's  mussed 
all  up  wi'  a  crazy  man's  blood.  A  crazy  man  as  wus 
killed  right  here,  kind  of,  by  Jake  Harnach." 

"  I  heard  something  of  it." 

"  Heerd  suthin'  of  it  ?    Wal,  I  guess  ther'  ain't  a  fet 


64  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

ler  around  this  prairie  as  ain't  yelled  hisself  hoarst 
'bout  Dave.  Say,  he  wus  the  harmlessest  lad  as  ever 
lerked  a  rope  or  slung  a  leg  over  a  stock  saddle.  An' 
as  slick  a  hand  as  ther'  ever  wus  around  this  ranch.  I 
tell  ye  he  could  teach  every  one  of  us,  he  wus  that 
handy ;  an'  that's  a  long  trail,  I  'low^s.  Wal,  we  wus 
runnin'  in  a  bunch  of  outlaws  fer  brand  in',  an'  he  wus 
makin'  to  rope  an  old  bull.  Howsum  he  got  him  kind 
o'  awkward.  The  rope  took  the  feller's  horns.  'Fore 
Dave  could  loose  it  that  bull  got  mad,  an'  went  squar' 
for  the  corral  walls  an'  broke  a  couple  o'  the  bars. 
Dave  jumped  fer  it  an'  got  clear.  Then  Jake  comes 
hoUerin'  an'  swearin'  like  a  stuck  hog,  an'  Dave  he  took 
it  bad.  Y'  see  no  one  could  handle  an  outlaw^  like 
Dave.  He  up  an'  let  fly  at  Jake,  an'  cussed  back. 
Wot  does  Jake  do  but  grab  up  a  brandin'  iron  an'  lay 
it  over  the  boy's  head.  Dave  jest  dropped  plumb  in 
his  tracks.  Then  w^e  got  around  and  hunched  him  up, 
an'  laid  him  out  in  his  bunk,  bleedin'  awful.  We  plas- 
tered him,  an'  doctored  him,  an'  after  a  whiles  he  come 
to  He  lay  on  his  back  fer  a  month,  an'  never  a  sign 
o'  Jake  or  the  blind  man  come  along,  only  Miss  Dianny. 
She  come,  an'  we  did  our  best.  But  arter  a  month  he 
got  up  plump  crazed  an'  silly-like.  He  died  back  ther' 
in  Forks  soon  after."  Arizona  paused  significantly. 
Then  he  went  on.  "  No,  sir,  ther'  ain't  bin  a  feller  put 
in  that  bunk  sense,  fer  they  ain't  never  gotten  pore 
Dave's  blood  ofi'n  it.  Say,  ther'  ain't  a  deal  as  'ud 
scare  us  fellers,  but  we  ain't  sleepin'  over  a  crazy  man's 
blood." 

"  Which,  apparently,  I've  got  to  do,"  Tresler  said 


THE  BLIND  MAN  65 

sharply.  Then  he  asked,  "Is  it  the  only  spare 
bunk?" 

"  No.     Ther's  Thompson's,  an*  ther's  Massy's." 

"Then  what's  the  object?" 

"  Cussedness.  It's  a  kind  o'  delicate  attention.  It's 
fer  to  git  back  on  you,  knowin'  as  us  fellers  'ud  sure 
tell  you  of  Dave.  It's  to  kind  o'  hint  to  you  what  hap- 
pens to  them  as  runs  foul  o*  him.  What's  like  to 
happen  to  you." 

Arizona's  fists  clenched,  and  his  teeth  gritted  with 
rage  as  he  deduced  his  facts.  Tresler  remained  calm, 
but  it  did  him  good  to  listen  to  the  hot-headed  cow- 
puncher,  and  he  warmed  toward  him. 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  disappoint  him,"  he  said,  when 
the  other  had  finished.  "  If  you  fellows  will  lend  me 
some  blankets,  I'll  sleep  in  Massy's  or  Thompson's 
bunk,  and  Mr.  Jake  can  go  hang." 

Arizona  shot  round  and  peered  into  Tresler's  face. 
"  An'  you'll  do  that— sure  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I'm  not  going  to  sleep  in  a  filthy 
bunk." 

*•'  Say,  you're  the  most  cur'usest  *  tenderfoot '  I've 
seen.     Shake ! " 

And  again  the  two  men  gripped  hands. 

That  first  evening  around  the  bunkhouse  Tresler 
learned  a  lot  about  his  new  home,  and,  incidentally, 
the  most  artistic  manner  of  cursing  the  flies.  He  had 
supper  with  the  boys,  and  his  food  was  hash  and  tea 
and  dry  bread.  It  was  hard  but  wholesome,  and  there 
was  plenty  of  it.  His  new  comrades  exercised  their 
yarning  propensities  for  him,  around  him,  at  him.     He 


66  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

listened  to  their  chaff,  boisterous,  uncuUured ;  their 
savage  throes  of  passion  and  easy  comradeships. 
They  seemed  to  have  never  a  care  in  the  world  but  the 
annoyances  of  the  moment.  Even  their  hatred  for  the 
foreman  and  their  employer  seemed  to  lift  from  them, 
and  vanish  with  the  sound  of  the  curses  which  they 
heaped  upon  them.  It  was  a  new  life,  a  new  world  to 
him  ;  and  a  life  that  appealed  to  him. 

As  the  sun  sank  and  the  twilight  waned,  the  men 
gradually  slipped  away  to  turn  in.  Arizona  was  the 
last  to  go.  Tresler  had  been  shown  Massy' s  bunk, 
and  friendly  hands  had  spread  blankets  upon  it  for 
him.  He  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  it  in  the  long  aisle 
between  the  double  row  of  trestle  beds.  Arizona  had 
just  pointed  out  the  dead  man's  disused  couch,  all 
covered  with  gunny  sacks. 

*•  That's  Dave's,"  he  said.  "  I  kind  o'  think  you'll 
sleep  easier  right  here.  Say,  Tresler,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  serious  light  in  his  eyes,  "I'd  jest  like  to  say 
one  thing  to  you,  bein'  an  old  hand  round  these  parts 
myself,  an'  that's  this.  When  you  git  kind  o'  worried, 
use  your  gun.  Et's  easy  an'  quick.  Guess  you've 
plenty  o'  time  an'  to  spare  after  fer  sizin'  things  up. 
Ther'  ain't  a  man  big  'nough  in  this  world  to  lift  a 
finger  ef  you  sez  *  no '  and  has  got  your  gun  pointin' 
right.     S'long." 

But  Tresler  detained  him.  "  Just  one  moment, 
Arizona,"  he  said,  imitating  the  other's  impressive 
manner.  **  I'd  just  like  to  say  one  thing  to  you,  being 
a  new  hand  around  these  parts  myself,  and  that's  this. 
Yo«  being  about  my  size,  I  wonder  if  you  could  sdl 


THE  BLIND  MAN  67 

me  a  pair  of  pants,  such  as  you  fellows  ordinarily 
wear  ?  " 

The  cowpuncher  smiled  a  pallid,  shadowy  smile,  and 
went  over  to  his  kit-bag.  He  returned  a  moment  later 
with  a  pair  of  new  moleskin  trousers  and  threw  them 
on  the  bunk. 

"You  ken  have  them,  I  guess.  Kind  0'  remem- 
brancer fer  talkin'  straight  to  Jake.  Say,  that  did  me 
a  power  o'  good." 

*'  Thanks,  but  I'll  pay " 

**  Not  on  your  life,  mister.'* 

"  Then  I'll  remember  your  advice." 

"  Good.     S'long." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Tresler  had  not  the  smallest  inclination  for  sleep. 
He  was  tired  enough  physically,  but  his  brain  was  still 
much  too  active.  Besides,  the  bunkhouse  was  un- 
inviting  to  him  as  yet.  The  two  lines  of  trestle-beds, 
with  their  unkempt  occupants,  were  suggestive  of — 
well,  anything  but  congenial  sleeping  companions. 
The  atmosphere  was  close  and  stuffy,  and  the  yellow 
glimmer  of  the  two  oil-lamps,  one  stationed  at  each 
end  of  the  room,  gave  the  place  a  distasteful  sugges- 
tion of  squalor. 

He  was  not  unduly  squeamish — far  from  it ;  but,  be 
it  remem'bered,  he  had  only  just  left  a  world  of  ease 
and  luxury,  where  snow-white  linen  and  tasteful  sur- 
roundings were  necessary  adjuncts  to  existence. 
Therefore  these  things  came  to  him  in  the  nature  of  a 
shock. 

He  looked  at  his  blankets  spread  over  the  straw 
i^jdiliasse  that  disguised  the  loose  bed-boards  under- 
neath, and  this  drew  his  attention  to  the  mattress  itself. 
It  was  well-worn  and  dusty,  and  as  he  moved  it  he 
felt  that  the  straw  inside  was  crushed  to  the  smallest 
chaff.  He  laid  it  back  carefully  so  as  not  to  disturb 
the  dust,  and  rearranged  the  blankets  over  it.  Then 
he  sat  on  the  ^oot  of  it  and  pondered. 


THE  NIGHT-RIDERS  69. 

He  gazed  about  him  at  the  other  beds.  Some  of  the 
men  were  already  sleeping,  announcing  the  fact  more 
or  less  loudly.  Others  were  swathed  in  their  blankets 
smoking  in  solemn  silence.  One  was  deep  in  the 
blood-curdling  pages  of  a  dime  novel,  straining  his 
eyes  in  the  fitful  light  of  the  lamps.  The  scene  had 
novelty  for  him,  but  it  was  not  altogether  enthralling, 
so  he  filled  his  pipe  and  lit  it,  and  passed  out  into  the 
fresh  night  air.  It  was  only  ten  o'clock,  and  he  felt 
that  a  smoke  and  a  comfortable  think  would  be  pleas- 
ant before  facing  the  charms  of  his  dusty  couch. 

The  moon  had  not  yet  risen,  but  the  starry  sheen  of 
the  sky  dimly  outlined  everything.  He  was  gazing 
upon  the  peaceful  scene  of  a  ranch  when  night  has 
spread  her  soft,  velvety  wings.  There  were  few  sounds 
to  distract  his  thoughts.  The  air  still  hummed  with 
the  busy  insect  life  ;  one  of  the  prowling  ranch  dogs 
occasionally  gave  tongue,  its  fiercely  suspicious  temper 
no  doubt  aroused  by  some  vague  shadow  which  surely 
no  other  eyes  than  his  could  possibly  have  detected  in 
the  darkness ;  sometimes  the  distressful  plaint  of  a 
hungry  coyote,  hunting  for  what  it  never  seems  to- 
find — for  he  is  always  prowling  and  hunting — would 
rouse  the  echoes  and  startle  the  "tenderfoot"  with  the 
suddenness  and  nearness  of  its  uncanny  call.  But  for 
the  rest  all  was  still.  And  he  paced  to  and  fro  before 
the  bunkhouse,  thinking. 

And,  strangely  enough,  of  all  the  scenes  he  had 
witnessed  that  day,  and  of  all  the  people  he  had  met^ 
it  was  the  scene  in  which  Diane  Marbolt  had  taken 
part,  and  of  her  he  mostly  thought.     Perhaps  it  was 


TO  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

the  unexpectedness  of  meeting  a  girl  so  charming  that 
held  him  interested.  Perhaps  it  was  the  eager  desire 
she  had  displayed  in  warning  him  of  his  personal 
danger.  Perhaps,  even,  it  was  the  recollection  of  the 
soft,  brown  eyes,  the  charming  little  sun-tanned  face 
that  had  first  looked  up  at  him  from  beneath  the 
broad-brimmed  straw  hat.  Certain  it  was  her  sad  face 
haunted  him  as  no  woman's  face  had  ever  haunted 
him  before  as  he  looked  out  on  the  vast,  dark  world 
about  him.  He  felt  that  he  would  like  to  know  some- 
thing of  her  story ;  not  out  of  idle  curiosity,  but  that 
he  might  discover  some  means  of  banishing  the  look 
of  sadness  so  out  of  place  upon  her  beautiful  features. 

His  pipe  burned  out,  and  he  recharged  and  lit  it 
afresh ;  then  he  extended  his  peregrinations.  He 
moved  out  of  the  deeper  shadows  of  the  bunkhouse 
and  turned  the  corner  in  the  direction  of  the  western 
group  of  corrals. 

Now  he  saw  the  foreman's  hut  beyond  the  dark  out- 
line of  the  great  implement  shed,  and  a  light  was  still 
shining  in  the  window.  Turning  away  he  passed  to 
the  left  of  the  shed,  and  strolled  leisurely  on  to  the 
corrals.  He  had  no  desire  in  the  world  to  meet  Jake 
Harnach;  not  that  he  thought  such  a  contingency 
likely,  but  still  there  was  always  the  chance  if  the  man 
had  not  yet  gone  to  bed.  He  had  already  decided 
that  the  less  he  saw  of  Jake  the  better  it  would  be  for 
both  of  them.  He  remained  for  some  minutes  seated 
on  the  top  of  the  corral  fence,  but  the  mosquitoes  were 
too  thick,  and  drove  him  to  further  wanderings. 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  move  away,  he  saw  the  door 


THE  NIGHT-RIDERS  71 

of  the  foreman's  hut  open,  and  in  the  light  that  shone 
behind,  the  small  figure  of  the  choreman,  Joe  Nelson, 
come  out.  Then  the  light  was  shut  out  as  the  great 
figure  of  Jake  blocked  the  doorway.  Now  he  distinctly 
heard  them  speaking. 

"I  shall  want  it  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  said  the 
foreman,  in  his  great  hoarse  voice. 

**  Guess  I'll  see  to  it,"  replied  Joe;  *' but 'tain't  the 
saddle  fer  anybody  who  ain't  used  to  it." 

**  That's  o'  no  consequence.  Your  business  is  to 
have  it  there." 

Then  Jake  retired,  and  the  door  was  shut.  A  mo- 
ment later  the  waiting  man  saw  Joe  emerge  from  the 
shadow  and  stump  off  in  the  direction  of  the  bunkhouse. 
A  few  yards  from  the  foreman's  hut  he  halted  and 
turned  about.  Then  Tresler  witnessed  something  that 
made  him  smile,  while  it  raised  a  lively  feeling  of  satis- 
faction in  his  heart.  Joe  slowly  raised  one  arm  in  the 
direction  of  the  hut,  and,  although  the  light  was  insuf- 
ficient for  him  to  see  it,  and  he  could  hear  no  words, 
he  felt  sure  that  the  fist  was  clenched,  and  a  string  of 
blasphemous  invective  was  desecrating  the  purity  of 
the  night  air.  A  moment  later  Joe  passed  leisurely  on 
his  way,  and  the  light  went  out  in  Jake's  dwelling. 

And  now,  without  concerning  himself  with  his  direc- 
tion, Tresler  continued  his  walk.  He  moved  toward 
an  open  shed  crowded  with  wagons.  This  he  skirted, 
intending  to  avoid  the  foreman's  hut,  but  just  as  he 
moved  out  from  the  shadow,  he  became  aware  that 
Jake's  door  had  opened  again  and  some  one  was  com- 
ing   out.     He    waited   for   a   moment   listening.     He 


72  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

fancied    he    recognized    the    foreman's   heavy   tread. 

Curiosity  prompted  him  to  inquire  further,  but  he 
checked  the  impulse.  After  all,  the  bully's  doings 
were  no  concern  of  his.  So  he  waited  until  the  sound 
of  receding  footsteps  had  died  out,  and  then  passed 
round  the  back  of  the  shed  and  strolled  on. 

There  was  nothing  now  in  front  of  him  but  the  dense 
black  line  of  the  boundary  pinewoods.  These  stretched 
jiway  to  the  right  and  left  as  far  as  the  darkness  per- 
mitted him  to  see.  The  blackness  of  their  depths  was 
like  a  sohd  barrier,  and  he  had  neither  time  nor  incli- 
^lation  to  explore  them  at  that  hour.  Therefore  he 
skirted  away  to  the  right,  intending  to  leave  the  forest 
edge  before  he  came  to  the  rancher's  house,  and  so 
make  his  way  back  to  his  quarters. 

He  was  approaching  the  house,  and  it  loomed  dark 
and  rigid  before  him.  Gazing  upon  it,  his  mind  at 
once  reverted  to  its  blind  owner,  and  he  found  himself 
wondering  if  he  were  in  bed  yet,  if  Diane  had  retired, 
and  in  which  portion  of  the  house  she  slept. 

His  pipe  had  gone  out  again,  and  he  paused  to  re- 
light it.  He  had  his  matches  in  his  hand,  and  was 
about  to  strike  one,  when  suddenly  a  light  flashed  out 
in  front  of  him.  It  came  and  was  gone  in  a  second. 
Yet  it  lasted  long  enough  for  him  to  realize  that  it 
came  from  a  window,  and  the  window,  he  knew,  from 
its  position,  must  be  the  window  of  Julian  Marbolt's 
bedroom.  * 

He  waited  for  it  to  reappear,  but  the  house  remained 
in  darkness ;  and,  after  a  moment's  deliberation,  he  re- 
alized its  meaning.     The  door  of  the  blind  man's  room 


THE  NIGH  r-RlDERS  73 

must  be  opposite  the  window,  and  probably  it  was  the 
opening  of  it  that  had  revealed  the  lamplight  in  the 
hall.  The  thought  suggested  the  fact  that  the  rancher 
had  just  gone  to  bed. 

He  turned  his  attention  again  to  his  pipe ;  but  he 
seemed  destined  not  to  finish  his  smoke.  Just  as  he 
had  the  match  poised  for  a  second  time,  his  ears,  now 
painfully  acute  in  the  stillness  about  him,  caught  the 
sound  of  horses*  hoofs  moving  through  the  forest. 

They  sounded  quite  near ;  he  even  heard  the  gush 
of  the  animals'  nostrils.  He  peered  into  the  depths. 
Then,  suddenly  realizing  the  strangeness  of  his  own 
position  lurking  so  near  the  house  and  under  cover  of 
the  forest  at  that  hour  of  the  night,  he  dropped  down 
in  the  shadow  of  a  low  bush.  Nor  was  it  any  too  soon, 
for,  a  moment  or  two  later,  he  beheld  two  horsemen 
moving  slowly  toward  him  out  of  the  black  depths. 
They  came  on  until  they  were  within  half  a  dozen 
yards  of  him,  and  almost  at  the  edge  of  the  woods. 
Then  they  drew  up  and  sat  gazing  out  over  the  ranch 
in  silent  contemplation. 

Tresler  strained  his  eyes  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of 
their  appearance,  but  the  darkness  thwarted  him.  He 
could  see  the  vague  outline  of  the  man  nearest  him, 
but  it  was  so  uncertain  that  he  could  make  little  of  it. 
One  thing  only  he  ascertained,  and  that  was  because 
the  figure  was  silhouetted  against  the  starlit  sky.  The 
man  seemed  to  have  his  face  covered  with  something 
that  completely  concealed  his  profile. 

The  whole  scene  passed  almost  before  he  realized  it. 
The  horsemen  had  appeared  so  suddenly,  and  were 


74  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

gone  so  swiftly,  returning  through  the  forest  the  way 
they  had  come,  that  he  was  not  sure  but  that  the  whole 
apparition  had  been  a  mere  trick  of  imagination. 
Rising  swiftly,  he  gazed  after  the  vanished  riders,  and 
the  crunching  of  the  pine  cones  under  the  horses'  hoofs, 
dying  slowly  away  as  they  retreated,  warned  him  that 
the  stealthy,  nocturnal  visit  was  no  illusion,  but  a  cu- 
rious fact  that  needed  explanation. 

Just  for  an  instant  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  might 
be  two  of  the  hands  out  on  night  work  around  the 
cattle,  then  he  remembered  that  the  full  complement 
were  even  now  slumbering  in  the  bunkhouse.  Puzzled 
and  somewhat  disquieted,  he  turned  his  steps  in  the 
direction  of  his  quarters,  fully  intending  to  go  to  bed  ; 
but  his  adventures  were  not  over  yet. 

As  he  drew  near  his  destination  he  observed  the 
figure  of  a  man,  bearing  something  on  his  back,  com- 
ing slowly  toward  him.  A  moment  later  he  was  look- 
ing down  upon  the  diminutive  person  of  Joe  Nelson  in 
the  act  of  carrying  a  saddle  upon  his  shoulder: 

"  Hello,  Nelson,  where  are  you  going  at  this  hour  of 
the  night  ?  '*  he  asked,  as  he  came  face  to  face  with  the 
little  man. 

The  choreman  deposited  the  saddle  on  the  ground, 
and  looked  his  man  up  and  down  before  he  answered. 

"  Wher'  am  I  goin'  ?  "  he  said,  as  though  he  were 
thinking  of  other  things.  **  I  guess  I'm  doin'  a  job 
in  case  I  git  fergittin'  by  the  mornin'.  Jake  reckons 
to  want  my  saddle  in  the  mornin'  over  at  the  hoss  cor- 
rals.    But,  say,  why  ain't  you  abed,  Mr.  Tresler  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  the  *  mister,'   Joe,"  Tresler  said  ami- 


A  moment  later  he  beheld  two  horsemen 


THE  NIGHT-RIDERS  75 

ably.  "  If  you're  going  to  the  horse  corrals  now  I'll 
go  with  you.  I'm  so  beastly  wide  awake  that  I  can't 
turn  in  yet." 

"  Come  right  along,  then.  Guess  I  ain't  feelin'  that 
ways,  sure." 

Joe  jerked  his  saddle  up  and  slung  it  across  his  back 
again,  and  the  two  men  walked  off  in  silence. 

And  as  they  walked,  Joe,  under  cover  of  the  dark- 
ness, eyed  his  companion  with  occasional  sidelong 
glances,  speculating  as  to  what  he  wanted  with  him. 
He  quite  understood  that  his  companion  was  not  walk 
ing  with  him  for  the  pleasure  of  his  company.  On  his 
part  Tresler  was  wondering  how  much  he  ought  to 
tell  this  man — almost  a  stranger — of  what  he  had  seen. 
He  felt  that  some  one  ought  to  know — some  one  with 
more  experience  than  himself.  He  felt  certain  that  the 
stealthy  visit  of  the  two  horsemen  was  not  wholesome. 
Such  espionage  pointed  to  something  that  was  not 
quite  open  and  aboveboard. 

They  reached  the  corrals,  and  Joe  deposited  his 
burden  upon  the  wooden  wall.  Then  he  turned 
sharply  on  his  companion. 

"  Wal,  out  wi'  it,  man,"  he  demanded.  *'  Guess 
you  got  something  you're  wantin'  to  git  off'n  your 
chest" 

Tresler  laughed  softly.     "  You're  pretty  sharp,  Joe." 

"  Pretty  sharp,  eh  ?  "  returned  the  little  man.  "  Say, 
it  don't  need  no  razor  to  cut  through  the  meanin'  of  a 
'tenderfoot'     Wal?" 

Tresler  was  looking  up  at  the  saddle.  It  was  a 
small,  almost  skeleton  saddle,  such  as,  at  one  time,  was 


yCi  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

largely  used  in  Texas ;  that  was  before  the  heavier  and 
tiiore  picturesque  Mexican  saddles  came  into  vogue 
aiiiong  the  ranchmen. 

*'  What  does  Jake  want  that  for  ?  "  he  asked. 

His  question  was  an  idle  one,  and  merely  put  for  the 
sake  of  gaining  time  while  he  arrived  at  a  definite  de^ 
cision  upon  the  other  matter. 

**  Guess  it's  fer  some  feller  to  ride  to-morrow — eh  ? 
Whewl" 

The  choreman  broke  off  and  whistled  softly.  Some- 
thing had  just  occurred  to  him.  He  measured  Tresler 
with  his  eye,  and  then  locked  at  the  short-seated  sad- 
dle with  its  high  cantle  and  tall,  abrupt  horn  in  front. 
He  shook  his  head. 

Tresler  was  not  heeding  him.  Suddenly  he  stopped 
and  sat  on  the  ground,  propping  his  back  against  the 
corral  wall,  while  he  looked  up  at  Joe. 

**  Sit  down,"  he  said  seriously  ;  *'  I've  got  something 
rather  particular  I  want  to  talk  about  At  least,  I 
think  it's  particular,  being  a  stranger  to  the  country." 

Without  replying,  Joe  deposited  himself  on  the  ground 
beside  his  new  acquaintance.  His  face  was  screwed  up 
into  the  expression  Tresler  had  begun  to  recognize  as  a 
smile.  He  took  a  chew  of  tobacco  and  prepared  to  give 
his  best  attention. 

"  Git  goin',"  he  observed  easily. 

'*  Well,  look  here,  have  we  any  near  neighbors  ?" 

"  None  nigher  than  Forks — 'cep'  the  Breeds,  an* 
they're  nigh  on  six  mile  south,  out  toward  the  hills. 
How  ?  " 

Then   Tresler   told   him  what   he   had   seen  at  the 


THE  NIGHT-RIDERS  77 

edge  of  the  pinewoods,  and  the  choreman  listened 
with  careful  attention.  At  the  end  of  his  story  Tresler 
added  — 

**  You  see,  it's  probably  nothing.  Of  course,  I  know 
nothing  as  yet  of  prairie  ways  and  doings.  No  doubt 
it  can  be  explained.  But  I  argued  the  matter  out  from 
my  own  point  of  view,  and  it  struck  me  that  two  horse- 
men, approaching  the  ranch  under  cover  of  the  forest 
and  a  dark  night,  and  not  venturing  into  the  open  after 
having  arrived,  simply  didn't  want  to  be  seen.  And 
their  not  wishing  to  be  seen  meant  that  their  object  in 
coming  wasn't — well,  just  above  suspicion." 

*'  Tol'ble  reasonin',"  nodded  Joe,  chewing  his  cud  re- 
flectively. 

"•  What  do  you  make  of  it  ?  ** 

"  A  whole  heap,"  Joe  said,  spitting  emphatically. 
"  What  do  I  make  of  it  ?  Yes,  that's  it,  a  whole  heap. 
Guess  that  feller  you  see  most  of  had  his  face  covered. 
Was  that  cover  a  mask  ?  " 

**  It  might  have  been." 

"A  red  mask?" 

"I  couldn't  see  the  color.  It  was  too  dark.  Might 
have  been." 

Joe  turned  and  faced  his  companion,  and,  hunching 
his  bent  knees  into  his  arms,  looked  squarely  into  his 
eyes. 

"  See  here,  pard,  guess  you  never  heard  o'  boss 
thieves  ?  They  ain't  likely  to  mean  much  to  you,"  he 
said,  with  some  slight  contempt.  Then  he  added,  by 
way  of  rubbing  it  in,  ''  You  bein'  a '  tenderfoot.'  Guess 
you  ain't  heard  tell  of  Red  Mask  an'  his  gang,  neither  ? " 


78  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Wrong  twice,"  observed  Tresler,  with  a  quiet 
smile.  "I've  heard  of  both  horse  thieves  and  Red 
Mask." 

''You've  heard  tell  of  hoss  thieves  an'  Red  Mask? 
Wal,  I'm  figgerin'  you've  seen  both  to-night,  anyway ; 
an'  Til  further  tell  you  this — if  you'd  got  the  drop  on 
him  this  night  an'  brought  him  down,  you'd  'a'  done 
what  most  every  feller  fer  two  hundred  miles  around 
has  been  lay  in'  to  do  fer  years,  an'  you'd  'a'  been  the 
biggest  pot  in  Montana  by  sundown  to-morrow."  He 
spoke  with  an  accent  of  triumph,  and  paused  for  effect. 
"  Say,  ther'  wouldn't  'a'  been  a  feller  around  as  wouldn't 
'a'  taken  his  hat  off  to  you,"  he  went  on,  to  accentuate 
the  situation.  ''Say,  it  was  a  dandy  chance.  But 
ther',  you're  a  '  tenderfoot,'  "  he  added,  with  a  sigh  of 
profound  regret. 

Tresler  was  inclined  to  laugh,  but  checked  himself  as 
he  realized  the  serious  side  of  the  matter. 

"  Well,  if  he  were  here  to-night,  what  does  it  por- 
tend ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  he  was  here  to-night  it  portends  a  deal,"  said  Joe, 
sharply.  "  It  portends  that  the  biggest  *  tough,'  the  big- 
gest man-killer  an'  hoss  thief  in  the  country,  is  on  the 
war-path,  an'  ther'U  be  trouble  around  'fore  we're  weeks 
older." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

*'  Who  is  he  ?  Wal,  I  'lows  that's  a  big  question. 
Guess  ther'  ain't  no  real  say  in'.  Some  sez  he's  from 
across  the  border,  some  sez  he's  a  Breed,  some  sez  he's 
the  feller  called  Duncan,  as  used  to  run  a  bum  saloon 
in  Whitewater,  an'  shot   a   man   in   his  own  bar  an' 


THE  NIGHT-RIDERS  79 

skipped.  No  one  rightly  knows,  'cap'  he's  real  '  bad/ 
an'  duffs  nigh  on  to  a  thousand  head  o'  stock  most 
every  year." 

'*  Then  what's  to  be  done?  "  Tresler  asked,  watching 
the  little  man's  twisted  face  as  he  munched  his  to- 
bacco. 

**  What's  to  be  done?  Wal,  I  don't  rightly  know. 
Say,  w^hat  wus  you  doln'  around  that  house  ?  I  ain't 
askin'  fer  cur'osity.  Ye  see,  if  you  got  tellin'  Jake  as 
you  wus  round  ther',  it's  likely  he'd  git  real  mad.  Y 
see,  Jake's  dead  sweet  on  Miss  Dianny.  It  gives  him 
the  needle  that  I'm  around  that  house.  O'  course,  ther' 
ain't  nuthin'  wi'  me  an'  Miss  Dianny,  'cep'  we're  kind 
o'  friendly.  But  Jake's  that  mean-sperrited  an'  jealous. 
She  hates  him  like  pizen.  I  know,  'cos  I'm  kind  o' 
friendly  wi'  her,  so  to  speak,  meanin'  nuthin',  o'  course. 
But  that  ain't  the  point.  If  you  wus  to  tell  him  he'd 
make  your  head  swim." 

*'  Oh,  hang  Jake  ! "  exclaimed  Tresler,  impatiently  ; 
*'  I'm  sick  to  death  of  hearing  of  his  terrorizing.  He 
can't  eat  me " 

"  No,  but  he'll  make  you  wish  he  could,"  put  in  the 
choreman,  quietly. 

'*  He'd  find  me  a  tough  mouthful,"  Tresler  laughed. 

"  Mebbe.     How  came  you  around  that  house  ?  " 

"  I  simply  wandered  there  by  chance.  I  was  smok- 
ing and  taking  a  stroll.     I'd  been  all  round  the  ranch." 

''That  wouldn't  suit  Jake.  No."  Joe  was  silent  for 
a  moment. 

Tresler  waited.  At  last  the  little  man  made  a  move 
and  spat  out  his  chew. 


So  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  That's  it,"  he  said,  slapping  his  thigh  triumphantly 
= — "  that's  it,  sure.  Say,  we  needn't  to  tell  Jake  nuthin'. 
Ill  git  around  among  the  boys,  an'  let  'em  know  as  I 
heerd  tell  of  Red  Mask  bein'  in  the  region  o'  the  Bend, 
an'  how  a  Breed  give  me  warnin',  bein'  scared  to  come 
along  to  the  ranch  lest  Red  Mask  got  wind  of  it  an' 
shut  his  head  lights  fer  him.  Ther'  ain't  no  use  in  rilin" 
Jake.  Meanin'  for  you.  He's  layin'  fer  you  anyways, 
as  I'm  guessin'  you'll  likely  know.  Savee?  Lie  low, 
most  as  low  as  a  dead  cat  in  a  well.  I'll  play  this 
hand,  wi'out  you  figgerin'  in  it ;  which,  fer  you,  I  guess 
is  best." 

Tresler  got  up  and  dusted  his  clothes.  There  was  a 
slight  pause  while  he  fingered  the  leather-capped  stir- 
rups of  the  stock  saddle  on  the  wall. 

Joe  grew  impatient.  "  Wal  ?  "  he  said  at  last ;  "  y* 
ain't  bustin'  wd'  'preciation." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  appreciate  your  shrewdness  and 
kindly  interest  on  my  behalf  most  cordiall}'-,"  Tresler 
replied,  dropping  the  stirrup  and  turning  to  his  com- 
panion ;  "  but,  you  see,  there's  one  little  weakness  in 
the  arrangement.  Jake's  liable  to  underestimate  the 
importance  of  the  nocturnal  visits  unless  he  knows  the 
real  facts.     Besides " 

*'  Besides,"  broke  in  Joe,  with  an  impatience  bred  oi 
his  reading  through  Tresler's  lame  objection,  "  you  jest 
notion  to  rile  Jake  some.  Wal,  you're  a  fool,  Tresler 
— a  dog-gone  fool !  Guess  you'll  strike  a  snag,  an' 
snags  mostly  hurts.  Howsum,  I  ain't  no  wet-nurse, 
an'  ef  you  think  to  bluii  Jake  Harnach,  get  right 
ahead  an'  blufT.     An'  when  you  bluff,  blufT  hard,  an' 


THE  NIGHT-RIDERS  8l 

Dack  it,  or  you'll  drop  your  wad  sudden.  Guess  1''! 
turn  iii," 

Joe  moved  off  and  Tresler  followed.  At  the  door  of 
the  bunkhouse  they  parted,  for  Joe  slept  in  a  lean-to 
against  the  kitchen  of  the  rancher's  house.  They  had 
said  "  good-night,"  and  Joe  was  moving  away  when  lie 
suddenly  changed  his  mind  and  came  back  again. 

*'  Say,  ther  ain't  nothin'  like  a  *  tenderfoot'  fer  bein' 
a  fool,  Tess  it's  a  settin'  hen,"  he  said,  with  profound 
contempt  but  with  evident  good-will.  '*  You're  kind  o' 
gritty,  Tresler,  I  guess,  but  mebbe  you'll  be  ast  to  git 
across  a  tol'ble  broncho  in  the  mornin'.  That's  as  may 
be.  But  ef  it's  so,  jest  take  two  thinks  'fore  settin' 
your  six  foot  o'  body  on  a  saddle  built  fer  a  feller  o'  five 
foot  one.  It  ain't  reason'ble,  an'  it's  dangerous.  It's 
most  like  tryin'  to  do  that  as  isn't,  never  wus,  and  ain't 
like  to  be,  an'  if  it  did,  wouldn't  amount  to  a  heap  any- 
way, 'cep'  it's  a  heap  o'  foolishness." 

Tresler  laughed.  "  All  right.  Two  into  one  won't 
go  without  leaving  a  lot  over.     Good-night,  Joe." 

**  So  long.  Them  fellers  as  gits  figgerin'  mostly  gits 
crazed  fer  doin'  what's  impossible.  Guess  I  ain't 
stuck  on  figgers  nohow." 

And  the  man  vanished  into  the  night,  while  Tresler 
passed  into  the  bunkhouse  to  get  what  little  sleep  his 
first  night  as  a  ranchman  might  afford  him. 


CHAPTER  V 

TRESLER   BEGINS   HIS   EDUCATION 

But  the  story  of  the  nocturnal  visit  of  the  horse 
thieves  did  not  reach  the  foreman  next  morning.  Jake 
hailed  Tresler  down  to  the  corrals  directly  after  break- 
fast. He  was  to  have  a  horse  told  off  to  him,  and  this 
matter,  and  the  presence  of  others,  made  him  postpone 
his  purpose  to  a  more  favorable  time. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  corrals,  three  of  the  boys, 
under  Jake's  superintendence,  were  cutting  out  a  big, 
raw-boned,  mud-brown  mare  from  a  bunch  of  about 
sixty  colts. 

She  stood  well  over  sixteen  hands — a  clumsy,  big- 
footed,  mea.n-looking,  clean-limbed  lady,  rough-coated, 
and  scored  all  over  with  marks  of  "  savaging.'*  She 
was  iiddle-headed  and  as  lean  as  a  hay-rake,  but  in 
build  she  was  every  inch  a  grand  piece  of  horse-flesh. 
And  Tresler  was  sufficient  horseman  to  appreciate  her 
lines,  as  well  as  the  vicious,  roving  eye  w^hich  displayed 
the  flashing  whites  at  every  turn. 

Jacob  Smith  was  after  her  wdth  a  rope,  and  the  on- 
lookers watched  his  lithe,  active  movements  as  he  fol- 
lowed her,  wildly  racing  round  and  round  the  corral 
seeking  a  means  of  escape. 

Suddenly  the  man  made  a  dart  in  to  head  her  off. 
She  turned  to  retreat,  but  the  other  tw^o  were  there  to 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  83 

frustrate  her  purpose.  Just  for  a  second  she  paused 
irresolutely ;  then,  lowering  her  head  and  setting  her 
ears  back,  she  came  open-mouthed  for  Jacob.  But  he 
anticipated  her  intention,  and,  as  she  came,  sprang 
lightly  aside,  while  she  sw^ept  on,  lashing  out  her  heels 
at  him  as  she  went.  It  was  the  opportunity  the  man 
sought,  and,  in  the  cloud  of  dust  that  rose  in  her  wake, 
his  lariat  shot  out  low  over  the  ground.  The  next  mo- 
ment she  fell  headlong,  roped  by  the  two  forefeet,  and 
all  three  men  sprang  in  to  the  task  of  securing  her. 

It  was  done  so  quickly  that  Tresler  had  hardly  real- 
ized her  capture  when  Jake's  harsh  voice  rang  out  — 

"  That's  your  mare,  Tresler  I  "  he  cried  ;  "  guess  that 
plug  of  yours'll  do  for  fancy  ridin'.  You'll  break  this 
one  to  handlin'  cattle.  You're  a  tolerable  weight,  but 
she's  equal  to  it."  He  laughed,  and  his  laugh  sent  an 
angry  flush  into  the  other's  face.  '*  Say,"  he  went  on, 
in  calmly  contemptuous  tones  ;  **  she's  wild  some.  But 
she's  been  saddled  before.  Oh,  yes,  she  ain!t  raw  off 
the  grass.  You,  comin'  from  down  east,  can  mebbe 
ride.  They  mostly  reckon  to  be  able  to  ride  till  they 
come  along  to  these  parts." 

Tresler  understood  the  man's  game  ;  he  also  under- 
stood and  fully  appreciated  Joe  Nelson's  warning.  He 
glanced  at  the  saddle  still  hanging  on  the  corral  w^all. 
It  would  be  simple  suicide  for  him  to  attempt  to  ride 
an  oudaw  with  a  saddle  fit  for  a  boy  of  fifteen.  And  it 
was  Jake's  purpose,  trading  on  his  ignorance  of  such 
matters,  to  fool  him  into  using  a  saddle  that  would 
probably  rupture  him. 

**  I  presume  she's  the  worst  outlaw  on  the  ranch,"  he 


84  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

replied  quietly,  though  his  blue  eyes  shone  dangerously 
"  She  must  be,"  he  went  on,  as  Jake  made  no  answer, 
**  or  you  wouldn't  give  her  to  me,  and  point  out  that 
she's  been  saddled  before." 

'*  Kind  o'  weakenin'  ?"  Jake  asked  with  a  sneer. 

'*  No.  I  was  just  thinking  of  my  saddle.  It  will  be 
no  use  on  her  ;  she'd  burst  the  girths." 

"  That  needn't  worry  you  any.  There's  a  stock  sad- 
dle there,  on  the  fence." 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  ride  on  a  saddle  that  fits  a  man  of 
my  size,  or  you  can  ride  the  mare  yourself." 

Tresler  was  round  and  facing  his  man,  and  his  words 
came  in  a  tone  the  other  was  unaccustomed  to.  But 
Jake  kept  quite  cool  while  he  seemed  to  be  debating 
with  himself.  Then  he  abruptly  turned  away  with  a 
short,  vicious  laugh. 

"  Guess  the  *  tenderfoot's '  plumb  scared  to  ride  her. 
boys,"  he  called  out  to  the  men,  relapsing  into  the  ver- 
nacular as  he  addressed  them.  "  Any  o'  you  boys 
lendin'  a  saddle,  or  shall  we  find  him  a  rockin'-hoss  to 
run  around  on  ?  " 

Tresler  fell  headlong  into  the  trap.  Jake  had  drawn 
him  with  a  skill  worthy  of  a  better  object. 

"  If  there  is  anybody  scared,  I  don't  think  it  is  I, 
boys,"  he  said  with  a  laugh  as  haseh  as  Jake's  had 
been.  **  If  one  of  you  will  lend  me  a  man's  saddle,  I'll 
break  that  mare  or  she'll  break  me." 

Now,  Tresler  was  a  very  ordinary  horseman.  He 
had  never  in  his  life  sat  a  horse  that  knew  the  first  rudi- 
ments of  bucking  ;  but  at  that  moment  he  would  have 
mounted  to  the  back  of  any  horse,  even  if  his  life  were 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  85 

to  pay  the  forfeit  next  moment.  Besides,  even  in  his 
blind  anger,  he  realized  that  this  sort  of  experience 
must  come  sooner  or  later.  "  Broncho-busting  "  would 
be  part  of  his  training.  Therefore,  when  some  one  sug- 
gested Arizona's  saddle — since  Arizona  was  on  the  sick 
list — he  jumped  at  the  chance,  for  that  individual  was 
about  his  size. 

The  mare  was  now  on  her  legs  again,  and  stood 
ready  bridled,  while  two  men  held  her  with  the  lariat 
drawn  tight  over  her  windpipe.  She  stood  as  still  as  a 
rock,  and  to  judge  by  the  flashing  of  her  eyes,  inwardly 
raging.  They  led  her  out  of  the  corral,  and  Arizona's 
saddle  was  brought  and  the  stirrups  adjusted  to  Tres- 
ler's  requirements.  She  was  taken  well  clear  of  the 
buildings  into  the  open,  and  Jacob,  with  the  subtlety 
and  art  acquired  by  long  practice  in  breaking  horses, 
proceeded  to  saddle  her.  Lew  and  Raw  Harris  choked 
her  quiet  with  the  lariat,  and  though  she  physically  at- 
tempted to  resent  the  indignity  of  being  saddled,  the 
cinchas  were  drawn  tight. 

Tresler  had  come  over  by  himself,  leaving  Jake  to 
watch  the  proceedings  from  the  vantage  ground  of  the 
rise  toward  the  house.  He  was  quite  quiet,  and  the 
boys  stole  occasional  apprehensive  glances  at  him. 
They  knew  this  mare  ;  they  knew  that  she  was  a  hope- 
less outlaw  and  fit  only  for  the  knacker's  yard.  At 
last  Jacob  beckoned  him  over. 

"  Say,  ther'  ain't  no  need  fer  you  to  ride  her,  mister,'' 
he  said,  feeling  that  it  was  his  duty  as  a  man  to  v/arn 
him.  '*  She's  the  worstest  devil  on  the  range,  an'  she'll 
break  your  neck  an'  jump  on  you  with  her  maulin' 


S6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

great  hoofs,  sure.  I  guess  ther'  ain't  a  *  buster  '  in  the 
country  'ud  tackle  her  fer  less  'an  a  fi'  dollar  wager, 
she's  that  mean." 

"  And  she  looks  all  you  say  of  her,  Jacob,"  replied 
Tresler,  with  a  grim  smile.  *'  Thanks  for  your  warn- 
ing, but  I'm  going  to  try  and  ride  her,"  he  went  on 
with  quiet  decision.  '^Not  because  I  think  I  can,  but 
because  that  bully  up  there  " — with  a  nod  in  Jake's  di- 
rection— *'  would  only  be  too  glad  of  the  chance  of 
taunting  me  with  *  weakening.*  She  shall  throw  me 
till  she  makes  it  a  physical  impossibility  for  me  to  mount 
her  again.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  fellows  stand  by  to 
keep  her  off  when  I'm  on  the  ground." 

By  this  time  Jacob  had  secured  the  saddle,  and  now 
Tresler  walked  round  the  great  beast,  patting  her 
gently  and  speaking  to  her.  And  she  watched  him 
with  an  evil,  staring  eye  that  boded  nothing  good. 
Then  he  took  a  rawhide  quirt  from  Jacob  and,  twist- 
ing it  on  his  wrist,  mounted  her,  while  the  men  kept 
the  choking  rope  taut  about  her  throat,  and  she  stood 
like  a  statue,  except  for  the  heaving  of  her  sides  as  she 
gasped  for  breath. 

He  gathered  the  reins  up,  which  had  been  passed 
through  the  noose  of  the  lariat,  and  sat  ready.  Jacob 
drew  ofT,  and  held  the  end  of  the  rope.  Tresler  gave 
the  word.  The  two  men  left  her,  while,  with  a  shake 
and  a  swift  jerk,  Jacob  flung  the  lariat  clear  of  the  mare's 
head.     In  an  instant  the  battle  had  begun. 

Down  went  the  lad3^'s  head  (the  boys  called  her  by  a 
less  complimentary  name),  and  she  shot  into  the  air 
with  her  back  humped  till  she  shaped  like  an  inverted 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  87 

U  with  its  extremities  narrowed  and  almost  touching. 
There  was  no  seesaw  bucking  about  her.  It  was  stiff- 
legged,  with  her  four  feet  bunched  together  and  her 
great  fiddle-head  lost  in  their  midst.  And  at  the  first 
jump  Tresler  shot  a  foot  out  of  the  saddle,  lurched 
forward  and  then  back,  and  finally  came  down  where 
he  had  started  from.  And  as  he  fell  heavily  into  the 
saddle  his  hand  struck  against  a  coiled  blanket  strap 
behind  the  cantle,  and  he  instinctively  grabbed  hold  of 
it  and  clung  to  it  for  dear  life. 

Up  she  shot  again,  and  deliberately  swung  round  in 
the  air  and  came  down  with  her  head  where  her  tail 
had  been.  It  was  a  marvelous,  cat-like  spring,  calcu- 
lated to  unseat  the  best  of  horsemen.  Tresler  was  half 
out  of  the  saddle  again,  but  the  blanket  strap  saved 
him,  and  the  next  buck  threw  him  back  into  his  seat. 
Now  her  jumps  came  like  the  shots  from  a  gatling  gun, 
and  the  man  on  her  back  was  dazed,  and  his  head 
swam,  and  he  felt  the  blood  rushing  to  his  ear-drums. 
But  with  desperate  resolve  he  clung  to  his  strap,  and  so 
retained  his  seat.  But  it  couldn't  last,  and  he  knew  it, 
although  those  looking  on  began  to  have  hopes  that 
he  would  tire  the  vixen  out.  But  they  didn't  know  the 
demon  that  possessed  her. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  as  though  an  accident  had  hap- 
pened to  her.  Her  legs  absolutely  shot  from  under  her 
as  she  landed  from  one  terrific  buck,  and  she  plunged 
to  the  ground.  Then  her  intention  became  apparent. 
But  luckily  the  antic  had  defeated  its  own  end,  for 
Tresler  was  flung  wide,  and,  as  she  rolled  on  the 
ground,  he  scrambled  clear  of  her  body. 


88  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

He  strug"gled  to  his  feet,  but  not  before  she  had 
realized  his  escape,  and,  with  tiie  savage  instinct  of  a 
man-eater,  had  sprung  to  her  feet  and  was  making  for 
him  open-mouthed.  It  was  Jacob's  readiness  and  won- 
derful skill  that  saved  him.  The  rope  whistled  through 
the  air  and  caught  her,  the  noose  falling  over  her  head 
with  scarcely  room  between  her  nose  and  her  victim's 
back  for  the  rawhide  to  pass.  In  a  flash  the  strands 
strung  tight,  and  her  head  swung  round  with  such  a 
jolt  that  she  was  almost  thrown  from  her  feet. 

Again  she  was  choked  down,  and  Tresler,  breathing 
desperately,  but  with  his  blood  fairly  up,  w^as  on  top  of 
her  almost  before  the  man  holding  her  realized  his  in- 
tention. The  mare  was  foaming  at  the  mouth,  and  a 
lather  of  sweat  dripped  from  her  tuckered  flanks.  The 
whites  of  her  eyes  w^ere  flaming  scarlet  now,  and  when 
she  was  let  loose  again  she  tried  to  savage  her  rider's 
legs.  Failing  this,  she  threw  her  head  up  violently, 
and,  all  unprepared  for  it,  Tresler  received  the  blow 
square  in  the  mouth.  Then  she  was  up  on  her  hind 
legs,  fighting  the  air  with  her  front  feet,  and  a  moment 
later  crashed  over  backward.  And  again  it  seemed 
like  a  miracle  that  he  escaped  ;  he  slid  out  of  the  saddle, 
not  of  his  own  intention,  and  rolled  clear  as  she  came 
down. 

This  time  she  was  caught  before  she  could  struggle 
to  her  feet,  and  when  at  last  slie  stood  up  she  was 
dazed  and  shaken,  though  still  unconquered. 

Again  Tresler  mounted.  He  was  bruised  and  bleed- 
ing, and  shaking  as  with  an  ague.  And  now  the  mare 
tried  a  new  move.     She  bucked  ;  but  it  was  a  running 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  89 

buck,  her  body  twisting  and  writhing  with  curious  ser- 
pentine undulations,  and  her  body  seemed  to  shrink 
under  his  legs  as  though  the  brute  were  drawing  in  her 
whole  frame  of  a  settled  purpose.  Then,  having  done 
enough  in  this  direction,  she  suddenly  stood,  and  be- 
gan to  kick  violently,  with  her  head  stretched  low  be- 
tween her  forelegs.  And  Tresler  felt  himself  sliding, 
saddle  and  all,  over  her  withers  !  Suddenly  the  blanket 
strap  failed  him.  It  cracked  and  gave,  and  he  shot 
from  the  saddle  like  a  new-fired  rocket. 

And  when  the  mare  had  been  caught  again  she  was 
without  the  saddle,  which  was  now  lying  close  to  where 
her  rider  had  fallen.  She  had  bucked  and  kicked  her- 
self clean  through  the  still-fastened  cinchas. 

Tresler  was  bleeding  from  nose  and  ears  when  he 
mounted  again.  The  saddle  was  cinched  up  very 
tight,  and  the  mare  herself  was  so  blown  that  she  was 
unable  to  distend  herself  to  resist  the  pressure.  But, 
nevertheless,  she  fought  as  though  a  devil  possessed 
her,  and,  exhausted,  and  without  the  help  of  the  blanket 
strap,  he  was  thrown  again  and  again.  Five  times  he 
fell ;  and  each  time,  as  no  bones  were  broken,  he  re- 
mounted her.     But  he  was  growing  helpless. 

But  the  men  looking  on  realized  that  which  was  tost 
upon  the  rider  himself.  The  mare  was  done  ;  she  was 
fairly  beaten.  The  fifth  time  he  climbed  into  the  saddle 
her  bucks  wouldn't  have  thrown  a  babe  ;  and  when  they 
beheld  this,  they,  with  one  accord,  shouted  to  him. 

"  Say,  thrash  her,  boy  !     Lace  h out  of  her  1 " 

roared  Jacob. 

"Cut  her  liver  out  wi'  that  quirt !  "  cried  Lew. 


go  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"Ay,  run  her  till  she  can't  see,"  added  Raw. 

And  Tresler  obeyed  mechanically.  He  was  too  ex« 
hausted  to  do  much ;  but  he  managed  to  bring  the 
quirt  down  over  her  shoulders,  until,  maddened  with 
pain,  she  rose  up  on  her  hind  legs,  gave  a  mighty 
bound  forward,  and  raced  away  down  the  trail  like  a 
creature  possessed. 

It  was  dinner-time  when  Tresler  saw  the  ranch  again. 
He  returned  with  the  mare  jaded  and  docile.  He  had 
recovered  from  the  battle,  while  she  had  scarcely  en- 
ergy enough  to  put  one  foot  before  the  other.  She  was 
conquered.  To  use  Arizona's  expression,  when,  from 
the  doorway  of  the  bunkhouse,  he  saw  the  mare  crawl- 
ing up  the  trail  toward  the  ranch  — 

"  Guess  she's  loaded  down  till  her  springs  is  nigh 
busted." 

And  Tresler  laughed  outright  in  Jake's  face  when 
that  individual  came  into  the  barn,  while  he  was  rub- 
bing her  down,  and  generally  returning  good  for  evil, 
and  found  fault  with  his  work. 

''Where,  I'd  like  to  know,  have  you  been  all  this 
time?"  he  asked  angrily.  Then,  as  his  eyes  took  in 
the  pitiful  sight  of  the  exhausted  mare,  "Say,  you've 
ruined  that  mare,  and  you'll  have  to  make  it  good. 
We  don't  keep  horses  for  the  hands  to  founder.  D'you 
see  what  you've  done  ?    You've  broke  her  heart." 

"And  if  I'd  had  the  chance  I'd  have  broken  her  neck 
too,"  Tresler  retorted,  with  so  much  heat,  that,  in  self- 
defense,  the  foreman  was  forced  to  leave  him  alone. 

That  afternoon  the  real  business  of  ranching  began. 
Lew  Cawley  was  sent  out  with  Tresler  to  instruct  him 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  91 

in  mending  barbed-wire  fences.  A  distant  pasture  had 
been  broken  into  by  the  roving  cattle  outside.  Lew 
remained  with  him  long  enough  to  show  him  how  to 
strain  the  wires  up  and  splice  them,  then  he  rode  off  to 
other  work. 

Tresler  was  glad  to  find  himself  out  on  the  prairie 
away  from  the  unbearable  influence  of  the  ranch  fore- 
man. The  afternoon  was  hot,  but  it  was  bright  with 
the  sunshine,  which,  in  the  shadow  of  the  mountains, 
is  so  bracing.  The  pastures  he  was  working  in  w^ere 
different  from  the  lank  w^eedy-grown  prairie,  although 
of  the  same  origin.  They  were  irrigated,  and  had  been 
sown  and  re-sown  with  timothy  grass  and  clover.  The 
grass  rose  high  up  to  the  horse's  knees  as  he  rode,  and 
the  quiet,  hard-working  animal,  his  own  property,  rev- 
eled in  the  sweet-scented  fodder  which  he  could  nip 
at  as  he  moved  leisurely  along. 

And  Tresler  worked  very  easily  that  afternoon.  Not 
out  of  indolence,  not  out  of  any  ill-feeling  toward  his 
foreman.  He  was  weary  after  his  morning's  exertions, 
and,  besides,  the  joy  of  being  out  in  the  pure,  bright 
air,  on  that  wondrous  sea  of  rolling  green  grass  with 
its  illimitable  suggestion  of  freedom  and  its  gracious 
odors,  seduced  him  to  an  indolence  quite  foreign  to 
him.  He  was  beyond  the  view  of  the  ranch,  with  two 
miles  of  prairie  rollers  intervening,  so  he  did  his  work 
without  concern  for  time. 

It  was  well  after  four  o'clock  when  the  last  strand  of 
wire  was  strung  tight.  Then,  for  want  of  a  shady  tree 
to  lean  his  back  against,  he  sat  down  by  a  fence 
post    and    smoked,    while    his    horse,    with    girths 


92  THE  NIGFiT-RiDERS 

loosened,  and  bit  removed  from  its  mouth,  grazed  joy- 
fully near  by. 

And  then  he  slept.  The  peace  of  the  prairie  world 
got  hold  of  him ;  the  profound  silence  lulled  his  fagged 
nerves,  his  pipe  went  out,  and  he  slept. 

He  awoke  with  a  start.  Nor,  for  the  momentj  did 
he  know  where  he  was.  His  pipe  had  fallen  from  his 
mouth,  and  he  found  himself  stretched  full  length  upon 
the  ground.  But  something  unusual  had  awakened 
him,  and  when  he  had  gathered  his  scattered  senses  he 
looked  about  him  to  ascertain  what  the  nature  of  the 
disturbance  had  been.  The  next  moment  a  laughing 
voice  hailed  him. 

"  Is  this  the  way  you  learn  ranching,  Mr.  Tresler  ? 
Oh,  shame  I  Sleeping  the  glorious  hours  of  sunshine 
aw^ay." 

It  was  the  rich,  gentle  voice  of  Diane  Marbolt,  and 
its  tone  was  one  of  quiet  raillery.  She  was  gazing 
down  at  him  from  the  back  of  her  sturdy  broncho 
mare,  Bessie,  with  eyes  from  which,  for  the  moment  at 
least,  all  sadness  had  vanished. 

Just  now  her  lips  were  wreathed  in  a  bright  smile, 
and  her  soft  brown  eyes  were  dancing  with  a  joyous 
light,  which,  when  Tresler  had  first  seen  her,  had 
seemed  impossible  to  them.  She  was  out  on  the 
prairie,  on  the  back  of  her  favorite,  Bessie ;  she  was 
away  from  the  ranch,  from  the  home  that  possessed  so 
many  cares  for  her.  She  was  out  in  her  w^orld,  the 
world  she  loved,  the  world  that  w^as  the  only  world  for 
her,  breathing  the  pure,  delicious  air  w^hich,  even  in 
moments  of  profound  unhappiness,  had  still  power  to 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  93 

carry  her  back  to  the  days  of  happy,  careless  child- 
hood ;  had  still  power  to  banish  all  but  pleasant 
thoughts,  and  to  bestow  upon  her  that  wild  sense  of 
freedom  such  as  is  only  given  to  those  who  have  made 
their  home  on  its  virgin  bosom. 

Tresler  beheld  this  girl  now  in  her  native  mood.  He 
saw  before  him  the  true  child  of  the  prairie  such  as 
she  really  was.  She  was  clad  in  a  blue  dungaree  habit 
and  straw  sun-hat,  and  he  marveled  at  the  ravishing 
picture  she  made.  He  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow 
and  stared  at  her,  and  a  sensation  of  delight  swept  over 
him  as  he  devoured  each  detail  of  face  and  figure. 
Then,  suddenly,  he  was  recalled  to  his  senses  by  the 
abrupt  fading  of  the  smile  from  the  face  before  him  ; 
and  he  flushed  with  a  rueful  sense  of  guiltiness. 

**  Fairly  caught  napping,  Miss  Marbolt,"  he  said,  in 
confusion.  ''  I  acknowledge  the  sloth,  but  not  the 
implied  laxness  anent  ranching.  Believe  me,  I  have 
learned  an  ample  lesson  to-day.  I  now  have  a  fuller 
appreciation  of  our  worthy  foreman  ;  a  fair  knowledge 
of  the  horse,  most  accurately  termed  *  outlaw,'  as  the 
bruised  condition  of  my  body  can  testify  ;  and,  as  for 
barbed-wire  fencing,  I  really  believe  I  have  discovered 
every  point  in  its  construction  worthy  of  consider- 
ation." 

He  raised  a  pair  of  lacerated  hands  for  the  girl's  in- 
spection, and  rose,  smiling,  to  his  feet. 

*•  I  apologize."  Diane  was  smiling  again  now  as 
she  noted  the  network  of  scratches  upon  his  out- 
stretched palms.  **  You  certainly  have  not  been  idle," 
she  added,  significantly. 


94  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Then  she  became  serious  with  a  suddenness  that 
showed  how  very  near  the  surface,  how  strongly 
marked  was  that  quiet,  thoughtful  nature  her  com- 
panion had  first  realized  in  her. 

"  But  I  saw  you  on  that  mare,  and  I  thought  you 
would  surely  be  killed.  Do  you  know  they've  tried  to 
break  her  for  two  seasons,  and  failed  hopelessly.  What 
happened  after  she  bolted?" 

*'  Oh,  nothing  much.  I  rode  her  to  Forks  and  back 
twice." 

"  Forty  miles !  Good  gracious  1  What  is  she  like 
now?" 

"  Done  up,  of  course.  Jake  assures  me  I've  broken 
her  heart ;  but  I  haven't.  My  Lady  Jezebel  has  a  heart 
of  stone  that  would  take  something  in  the  nature  of  a 
sledge-hammer  to  break.  She'll  buck  like  the  mischief 
again  to-morrow." 

"Yes." 

The  girl  nodded.  She  had  witnessed  the  battle  be- 
tween the  **  tenderfoot "  and  the  mare ;  and,  now  that 
it  was  all  over,  she  felt  pleased  that  he  had  won.  And 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  approval  in  the  glance  she 
gave  him.  She  understood  the  spirit  that  had  moved 
him  to  drive  the  mare  that  forty  miles  ;  nor,  in  spite  of 
a  certain  sympathy  for  the  jaded  creature,  did  she  con- 
demn him  for  it.  She  was  too  much  a  child  of  the 
prairie  to  morbidly  sentimentalize  over  the  matter. 
The  mare  was  a  savage  of  the  worst  type,  and  she 
knew  that  prairie  horses  in  their  breaking  often  require 
drastic  treatment.  It  was  the  stubborn,  purposeful 
character  of  the  man  that  she  admired,  and  thought 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  95 

most  of.  He  had  carried  out  a  task  that  the  best  horse- 
breaker  in  the  country  might  reasonably  have  shrunk 
from,  and  all  to  please  the  brutal  nature  of  Take  Har- 
nach, 

''And  you've  christened  her  '  Lady  Jezebel' ? "  she 
asked. 

Tresler  laughed.  "Why,  yes,  it  seems  to  suit  her," 
he  said  indifferently. 

Then  a  slight  pause  followed  which  amounted  almost 
to  awkwardness.  The  girl  had  come  to  find  him.  Her 
visit  was  not  a  matter  of  chance.  She  wanted  to  talk 
to  this  man  from  the  East.  And,  somehow,  Tresler 
understood  that  this  was  so.  For  some  moments  she 
sat  stroking  Bessie's  shoulder  with  her  rawhide  riding- 
switch.  The  mare  grew  restive.  She,  too,  seemed  to 
understand  something  of  the  awkwardness,  and  did  her 
best  to  break  it  up  by  one  or  two  of  her  frivolous  gam- 
bols. When  she  had  been  pacified,  the  girl  leaned 
forward  in  her  saddle  and  looked  straight  into  her 
companion's  eyes. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  abruptly ;  **  why  did  you  ride 
that  animal  ?  " 

The  man  laughed  a  litde  harshly.  *'  Because — well, 
because  I  hadn't  sense  enough  to  refuse,  I  suppose." 

"  Ah,  I  understand.     Jake  Hamach." 

Tresler  shrugged. 

''  I  came  out  purposely  to  speak  to  you,"  the  girl 
went  on,  in  a  quiet,  direct  manner.  There  was  not  the 
least  embarrassment  now.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  avoid  all  chance  of  misunderstanding.  "  I  want  to 
put  matters  quite  plainly  before  you.     This  morning's 


96  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS  ^ 

business  was  only  a  sequel  to  your  meeting  with  Jake, 
or  rather  a  beginning  of  the  sequel." 

Tresler  shook  his  head  and  smiled.  "  Not  the  be- 
ginning of  the  sequel.  That  occurred  last  evening, 
after  I  left  you." 

Diane  looked  a  swift  inquiry. 

*'  Yes,  Jake  is  not  an  easy  man.  But  believe  me, 
Miss  Marbolt,  you  need  have  no  fear.  I  see  what  it 
is ;  you,  in  the  kindness  of  your  heart,  dread  that  I,  a 
stranger  here  in  your  land,  in  your  home,  may  be  mal- 
treated, or  even  worse  by  that  unconscionable  ruffian. 
Knowing  your  father's  affliction,  you  fear  that  I  have 
no  protection  from  Jake's  murderous  savagery,  and 
you  are  endeavoring  bravely  to  thrust  your  frail  self 
between  us,  and  so  stave  off  a  catastrophe.  Have  no 
fear.  I  do  not  anticipate  a  collision.  He  is  only  an 
atrocious  bully." 

**  He  is  more  than  that.     You  underestimate  him." 

The  girl's  face  had  darkened.  Her  lips  were  firmly 
compressed,  and  an  angry  fire  burned  in  her  usually 
soft  eyes, 

Tresler,  watching,  read  the  hatred  for  Jake  ;  read  the 
hatred,  and  saw  that  which  seemed  so  out  of  place  in 
the  reliant  little  face.  A  pronounced  fear  was  also  ex- 
pressed, and  the  two  were  so  marked  that  it  was  hard 
to  say  which  feeling  predominated.  Hatred  had  stirred 
depths  of  fire  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  but  fear  had  paled 
her  features,  had  set  drawn  lines  about  her  mouth  and 
brows.     He  wondered. 

*'  You  are  right,  Mr.  Tresler,  in  that  you  think  I  dread 
for  your  safety,"  she  went  on  presendy.     **  It  was  cer- 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION  97 

tainly  that  dread  that  brought  me  out  here  to-day. 
You  do  not  anticipate  a  collision  because  you  are  a 
brave  man.  You  have  no  fear,  therefore  you  give  no 
thought  to  possibilities.  I  am  weak  and  a  woman, 
and  I  see  with  eyes  of  understanding  and  knowledge 
of  Jake,  and  I  know  thac  the  collision  will  be  forced 
upon  you ;  and,  further,  when  the  trouble  comes,  Jake 
will  take  no  chances.  But  you  must  not  think  too  well 
of  me.  Believe  me,  there  is  selfishness  at  the  root  of 
my  anxiety.  Do  you  not  see  what  tiouble  it  will  cause 
to  us ;  my  father,  me  ?  " 

Tresler  looked  away.  The  girl  had  a  strange  in- 
sistence. It  seemed  to  him  folly  to  consider  the  matter 
so  seriously.  He  was  convinced  that  she  was  holding 
something  back ;  that  she  was  concealing  her  real 
reason — perhaps  the  reason  of  her  own  fear  of  Jake — 
for  thus  importuning  him.  It  did  not  take  him  long 
to  make  up  his  mind  with  those  lovely,  appealing  eyes 
upon  him.  He  turned  back  to  her  with  a  frank  smile, 
and  held  out  his  hand.  Diane  responded,  and  they 
shook  hands  like  two  friends  making  a  bargain. 

*'  You  are  right,  Miss  Marbolt,"  he  said.  "  I  promise 
you  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  keep  the  peace  with  Jake. 
But,"  and  here  he  held  up  a  finger  in  mock  warning, 
"  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  physical  attack  will  be 
resented — to  the  last." 

Diane  nodded.  She  had  obtained  all  the  assurance 
he  would  give,  she  knew,  and  wisely  refrained  from 
further  pressure. 

Now  a  silence  fell.  The  sun  was  dropping  low  in 
the  west,  and  already  the  shadows  on  the  grass  were 


98  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

lengthening.  Tresler  brought  his  grazing  horse  back. 
When  he  returned  Diane  reverted  to  something  he  had 
said  before. 

**  This  '  sequel '  you  spoke  of.  You  didn't  tell  me 
it."  Her  manner  had  changed,  and  she  spoke  almost 
lightly. 

''  The  matter  of  the  sequel  was  a  trivial  affair,  and 
only  took  the  form  of  Jake's  spleen  in  endeavoring  to 
make  my  quarters  as  uncomfortable  for  me  as  possible. 
No,  the  incident  I  had  chiefly  in  mind  was  something 
altogether  different.  It  was  all  so  strange — so  very 
strange,"  he  went  on  reflectively.  **  One  adventure  on 
top  of  another  ever  since  my  arrival.  The  last,  and 
strangest  of  all,  did  not  occur  until  nearly  midnight." 

He  looked  up  with  a  smile,  but  only  to  find  that 
Diane's  attention  was  apparently  wandering. 

The  girl  was  gazing  out  over  the  waving  grass-land 
with  deep,  brooding,  dreamy  eyes.  There  was  no 
anger  in  them  now,  only  her  features  looked  a  little 
more  drawn  and  hard.  The  man  waited  for  a  moment, 
then  as  she  did  not  turn  he  went  on. 

"You  have  strange  visitors  at  the  ranch,  Miss  Mar- 
bolt — very  strange.  They  come  stealthily  in  the  dead 
of  night ;  they  come  through  the  shelter  of  the  pine- 
woods,  where  it  is  dark,  almost  black,  at  night.  They 
come  with  faces  masked — at  least  one  face " 

He  got  no  further.  There  was  no  lack  of  effect  now. 
Diane  was  round  upon  him,  gazing  at  him  with  fright- 
ened eyes. 

"  You  saw  them  ? "  she  cried ;  and  a  strident  ring 
had  replaced  her  usually  soft  tones. 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION         99 

'*Themr    Who?" 

For  a  moment  they  stared  into  each  other's  eyes. 
He  inquiringly ;  she  with  fear  and  mingled  horror. 

"These — these  visitors."  The  words  came  almost 
in  a  whisper. 

"Yes." 

"And  what  were  they  like?" 

The  girl  spoke  apprehensively. 

Then  Tresler  told  his  story  as  he  had  told  it  to  Joe 
Nelson.  And  Diane  hung  on  every  word  he  uttered, 
searching  him  through  and  through  with  her  troubled 
eyes. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  she  asked 
as  he  finished. 

Tresler  was  struck  with  the  peculiarity  of  the  ques- 
tion. She  expressed  no  surprise,  no  wonder.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  matter  was  in  nowise  new  to 
her.  Her  whole  solicitude  was  in  her  anticipation  of 
what  he  would  do  about  it. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  he  said,  concealing  his  surprise 
under  a  leisurely  manner.  "  I  had  intended  to  tell 
Jake,"  he  went  on  a  moment  later,  "  only  the  Lady 
Jezebel  put  it  out  of  my  head.  I  told  Joe  Nelson  last 
night.  He  told  me  I  had  seen  Red  Mask,  the  cattle 
thief,  and  one  of  his  men.  He  also  tried  to  get  me  to 
promise  that  I  would  say  nothing  about  it  to  Jake.  I 
refused  to  give  that  promise.  He  gave  me  no  suffi- 
cient reasons,  you  see,  and — well,  I  failed  to  see  the 
necessity  for  silence." 

"  But  there  is  a  necessity,  Mr.  Tresler.  The  greatest." 
Diane's  tone  was  thrilling  with  an  almost  fierce  earnest* 


zoo  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

iiess.  "Joe  was  right.  Jake  is  the  last  person  to  whom 
you  should  tell  your  story." 

''Why?" 

"  Why  ? "  Diane  echoed,  with  a  mirthless  laugh. 
"  Pshaw  1 " 

**  Yes,  why  ?     I  have  a  right  to  know,  Miss  Marbolt.'* 

"You  shall  know  all  I  can  tell  you."  The  girl 
seemed  on  the  verge  of  making  an  impulsive  state- 
ment, but  suddenly  stopped ;  and  when  at  last  she  did 
proceed  her  tone  was  more  calm  and  so  low  as  to  be 
little  above  a  whisper.  ''Visitors  such  as  you  have 
seen  have  been  seen  by  others  before.  The  story,  as 
you  have  told  it,  has  in  each  case  been  told  to  Jake  by 
the  unfortunate  who  witnessed  these  strange  move- 
ments at  night " 

"Unfortunate?" 

"  Yes.  The  informant  has  always  met  with  misfor- 
tune, accident — whatever  you  like  to  call  it.  Listen ; 
it  is  a  long  story,  but  I  will  merely  outline  the  details  I 
wish  to  impress  on  you.  Some  years  ago  this  Red 
Mask  appeared  from  no  one  knows  where.  Curiously 
enough  his  appearance  was  in  the  vicinity  of  this 
ranch.  We  were  robbed,  and  he  vanished.  Some 
time  later  he  was  seen  again,  much  the  same  as  you 
saw  him  last  night.  One  of  our  boys  gave  the  warn- 
ing to  Jake.  Two  days  later  the  poor  fellow  who 
informed  upon  him  was  found  shot  on  the  trail  into 
Forks.  Later,  again,  another  hand  witnessed  a  some- 
what similar  scene  and  gave  information.  His  end  was 
by  drowning  in  a  shallow  part  of  the  river.  Folks  at- 
tributed his  end  to  drink,  but Again  Red  Mask 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCA.TJON        loi 

showed  up — always  at  night — again  lie  was  seen,  a^d 
Jake  was  warned.  The  vicdm  this  time  met  his  dtath 
by  the  falUng  of  a  rock  in  the  foot-hills.  The  rock 
killed  horse  and  rider.  And  so  it  has  gone  on  at  vary- 
ing intervals.  Eight  men  have  been  similarly  treated. 
The  ninth,  Arizona,  barely  escaped  with  his  life  a  little 
while  ago.  I've  no  doubt  but  that  some  accident  will 
happen  to  him  yet.  And,  mark  this,  in  each  case  the 
warning  has  gone  first  to  Jake.  I  may  be  altogether 
wrong  ;  certainly  other  folks  do  not  look  upon  the 
death  of  these  various  men  with  suspicion,  but  I  have 
watched,  and  reasoned  out  all  I  have  seen.     And— — " 

"  Why,  Jake  must " 

"Hush!" 

Diane  gazed  round  her  apprehensively. 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Tresler,"  she  went  on  hurriedly,  "  I  do 
not  say  that ;  I  dare  not  think  of  it.  Jake  has  been 
with  us  so  long ;  he  cares  for  father's  interest  as  for  his 
own.  In  spite  of  his  terrible  nature  he  is  father's — 
friend." 

"  And  the  man  who  intends  to  marry  you,'*  Tresler 
added  to  himself.  Aloud  he  asked,  "Then  how  do 
you  account  for  it  ?  " 

"That's  just  it.  I — I  don't  account  for  it.  I  only 
warn  you  not  to  take  your  story  to  Jake." 

Tresler  drew  a  step  nearer,  and  stood  so  close  to  her 
that  her  dungaree  skirt  was  almost  touching  him.  He 
looked  up  in  a  manner  that  compelled  her  gaze. 

"You  do  account  for  it.  Miss  Marbolt,"  he  said 
emphatically. 

Nor  did  the  girl  attempt  denial.     Just  for  a  moment 


102  .        THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

there  was  a  breathless  silence.  Then  Bessie  pawed 
the  ground,  and  thrust  her  nose  into  the  face  of  Tres- 
ler's  horse  in  friendly,  caressing  fashion  ;  and  the 
movement  broke  the  spell. 

"  Urge  me  no  further,  Mr.  Tresler,"  Diane  exclaimed 
appealingly.  "  Do  not  make  me  say  something  I  have 
no  right  to  say ;  something  I  might  have  cause  to  re- 
gret all  my  life.  Believe  me,  I  hardly  know^  what  to 
believe,  and  what  not  to  believe  ;  I  hardly  know  what  to 
think.  I  can  only  speak  as  my  instinct  guides  me.  Oh, 
Mr.  Tresler,  I — I  can  trust  you.     Yes — I  know  I  can." 

The  girl's  appeal  had  its  effect,  Tresler  reached  up 
and  caught  the  litde  outstretched  hands. 

'*  Yes,  you  can  trust  me.  Miss  Marbolt,"  he  said  with 
infinite  kindness.  "You  have  done  the  very  best 
thing  you  could  have  done.  You  have  given  me  your 
confidence — a  trouble  that  I  can  see  has  caused  you 
ages  of  unhappiness.     I  confess  you  have  opened  up 

suspicions  that  seem  almost  preposterous,  but  you " 

He  broke  ofT,  and  stood  gazing  down  thoughtfully  at 
the  two  hands  he  still  held  clasped  wdthin  his.  Then 
he  seemed  to  become  suddenly  aw^are  of  the  position, 
and,  with  a  slight  laugh,  released  them.  "  Pardon 
me,"  he  said,  glancing  up  into  the  troubled  eyes  wnth 
a  kindly  smile.  "  I  was  dreaming.  Come,  let  us  re- 
turn to  the  ranch.  It  is  time.  It  will  be  pleasant 
riding  in  the  cool.  By  Jove,  I  begin  to  think  that  it  is 
more  than  possible  I  owe  Jake  considerable  gratitude 
after  all." 

"You  owe  him  nothing,"  answered  Diane,  with 
angry  emphasis.     "  You  owe  him  nothing  but  obedi- 


TRESLER  BEGINS  HIS  EDUCATION        103 

ence  as  a  ranch  hand,  and  that  you  will  have  to  pay 
him.     For  the  rest,  avoid  him  as  you  would  a  pest." 

Tresler  sprang  into  the  saddle,  and  the  horses  ambled 
leisurely  off  in  the  direction  of  the  ranch.  And,  as  he 
rode,  he  set  aside  all  thoughts  of  Jake  and  of  Red 
Mask.  He  thought  only  of  the  girl  herself,  of  her  de- 
lightful companionship. 

His  steady-going  horse,  with  due  regard  for  the  sex 
of  his  companion,  allowed  Bess  to  lead  him  by  a  neck. 
He  traveled  amiably  by  her  side,  every  now  and  then 
raising  his  nose  as  though  to  bite  his  spirited  little 
companion,  but  it  was  only  pretense.  Nor  did  Tresler 
urge  him  faster.  He  preferred  that  they  should  travel 
thus.  He  could  gaze  to  his  heart's  content  upon  Diane 
without  displaying  rudeness.  He  could  watch  the  trim, 
erect  figure,  poised  so  easily  and  gracefully  upon  the 
saddle.  She  rode  like  one  born  to  the  saddle,  and  by 
the  gait  of  her  mare,  he  could  see  that  her  hands  were 
of  the  lightest,  yet  firm  and  convincing  to  the  high- 
mettled  animal  they  controlled. 

The  girl  was  a  perfect  picture  as  she  rode ;  her  rich, 
dark  hair  was  loosely  coiled,  and  several  waving  ring- 
lets had  fluffed  loose  with  the  breeze  and  motion  of 
riding,  and  strayed  from  the  shadow  of  her  wide  hat. 
Tresler s  thoughts  went  back  to  his  home ;  and,  he 
told  himself,  none  of  the  horsewomen  he  had  known 
could  have  displayed  such  an  abundant  grace  in  the 
saddle  with  their  rigid  habits  and  smart  hats.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  riding-school  here ;  just  the  horse- 
manship that  is  so  much  a  natural  instinct. 

And  so  they  rode  on  to  the  ranch. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR 

All  was  still  and  drowsy  about  the  ranch.  Every 
available  hand  was  out  at  work  upon  some  set  task, 
part  of  the  daily  routine  of  the  cattle  world.  Mosquito 
Bend  was  a  splendid  example  of  discipline,  for  Jake  was 
never  the  man  to  let  his  men  remain  idle.  Even 
Arizona  had  been  set  to  herd  the  milch  cows  and  gen- 
erally  tend  the  horses  remaining  in  the  barn  ;  and 
Tresler,  too,  was  further  acquainting  himself  with  the 
cantankerous  nature  of  barbed-wire  fencing. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  there  was  nothing  about 
the  ranch  to  indicate  the  undercurrent  of  trouble 
Tresler  had  so  quickly  discovered  to  be  flowing  be- 
neath its  calm  surface.  The  sun  was  pouring  down 
upon  the  wiltering  foliage  with  a  fierceness  which  had 
set  the  insect  world  droning  its  drowsy  melody  ;  the 
earth  was  already  parching ;  the  sloughs  were  already 
dry,  and  the  tall  grass  therein  was  rapidly  ripening 
against  the  season  of  haying.  But  in  spite  of  the  seem- 
ing peace ;  in  spite  of  the  cloudless  sky,  the  pastoral 
beauty  of  the  scene,  the  almost  inaudible  murmur  of 
the  distant  river,  the  tide  was  flowing  swiftly  and  surely. 
It  was  leaping  with  the  roar  of  a  torrent. 

A  clatter  of  horse's  hoofs  broke  up  the  quiet,  and 
came  rattling  over  the  river  trail.     The  noise  reached 


THE  PvlLLlNG  OF  MANSON  ORR  105 

Jake's  ears  and  set  him  alert.  He  recognized  the  eager 
haste,  the  terrific  speed,  of  the  animal  approacliing. 
He  rose  from  his  bunk  and  stood  ready,  and  a  look  oi 
deep  interest  was  in  his  bold  black  eyes.  Suddenly  a 
horseman  came  into  view.  He  was  leaning  well  over 
his  horse's  neck,  urging  to  a  race  with  whip  and  spur. 
Jake  saw  him  sweep  by  and  breast  the  rise  to  the 
rancher's  house. 

At  the  verandah  the  man  flung  off  his  horse,  and  left 
the  drooping  beast  standing  while  he  hammered  at  the 
door.  There  was  some  delay,  and  he  repeated  his 
summons  still  more  forcibly,  adding  his  voice  to  his  de- 
mand. 

"  Hello  there  1 ''  he  called.     "  Any  one  in  ?  " 

"  Archie  Orr,''  Jake  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  stepped 
out  of  his  hut. 

The  next  moment  the  man  at  the  verandah  was 
caught  up  in  the  full  blast  of  the  foreman's  half-savage 
and  wholly  hectoring  protest 

"What  blazin'  racket  are  you  raisin'  ther*?"  he 
roared,  charging  up  the  hill  with  heavy,  hurried  strides. 
"This  ain't  Skitter  Reach,  you  dog-gone  coyote,  nor 
that  ain't  your  pap's  shanty.  What's  itchin*  you,  blast 
you  ?  " 

Archie  swung  round  at  the  first  shout.  There  was  a 
wild  expression  on  his  somewhat  weak  face.  It  was 
the  face  of  a  weak  nature  suddenly  worked  up  into  the 
last  pitch  of  frenzy.  But  even  so  the  approach  of  Jake 
was  not  without  its  effect.  His  very  presence  w^as  full 
of  threat  to  the  weaker  man.  Archie  was  no  physical 
coward,  but,  in  that  first  moment  of  meeting,  he  felt  as 


io6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

if  he  had  been  suddenly  taken  by  the  collar,  lifted  up 
and  shaken,  and  forcibly  set  down  on  his  feet  again. 
And  his  reply  came  in  a  tone  that  voiced  the  mental 
process  he  had  passed  through. 

*  Fve  come  for  help.  I  was  in  Forks  last  night,  and 
only  got  home  this  afternoon,"  he  answered,  with  un- 
natural calmness.  Then  the  check  gave  w^ay  before  his 
h}^sterical  condition,  and  Jake's  momentary  influence 
was  lost  upon  him.  ''  I  tell  you  it's  Red  Mask !  It's 
him  and  his  gang  !  They've  shot  my  father  down  , 
they've  burned  us  out,  and  driven  off  our  stock  !  God's 
curse  on  the  man  I  But  I'll  have  him.  I'll  hunt  him 
down.  Ha  !  ha  ! "  The  young  man's  blue  eyes  flashed 
and  his  face  worked  as  his  hysteria  rose  and  threatened 
to  overwhelm  him.  ''You  hear?"  he  shouted  on — 
"  what  does  it  say  ?  Blood  for  blood.  I'll  have  it ! 
Give  me  some  help.  Give  me  horses,  and  I'll  have  it  1 
I'll "     His  voice  had  risen  to  a  shriek. 

"  You'll  shut  ofi  that  damned  noise,  or " — Jake's 
ferocious  face  was  thrust  forward,  and  his  fierce  eyes 
glared  furiously  into  the  other's — "  or  git." 

Archie  shrank  back  silenced  at  once.  The  effect 
suited  the  foreman,  and  he  went  on  with  a  sardonic 
leer  — 

"  An'  you'll  have  *  blood  for  blood '  o'  Red  Mask  ? 
You  ?  You  who  was  away  boozin'  in  Forks  when  you'd 
a  right  to  ha'  been  around  lookin'  to  see  that  old  skin- 
flint of  a  father  o'  yours  didn't  git  no  hurt.  You're 
goin'  to  round  up  Red  Mask  ;  you  who  ain't  got  guts 
enough  but  to  crawl  round  here  fer  help  to  do  it 
Youl" 


THE  KILLING   OF  MANSON  ORR  107 

A  hot  reply  sprang  to  the  youngster's  lips  in  spite  oi 
his  fear  of  this  man,  but  it  died  suddenly  as  a  voice  from 
within  the  doorway  broke  in  upon  them. 

"  And  a  right  purpose  too,  Archie." 

Diane  stepped  out  on  to  the  verandah  and  ranged 
herself  at  his  side,  while  her  scornful  brown  eyes  sought 
the  foreman's  face.  There  was  a  moment's  pause,  then 
she  looked  up  into  the  boy's  troubled  face. 

"  You  want  to  see  my  father  ?  " 

Archie  was  only  eighteen,  anu  though  well  grown 
and  muscular,  he  was  still  only  a  boy. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Diane  ;  I  do  want  to  see  him.  I  want  to 
borrow  a  couple  of  horses  from  him,  and  to  ask  his  ad- 
vice." 

Archie's  recent  heat  and  hysteria  had  soothed  under 
the  influence  of  the  girl's  presence.  He  now  stood 
bowed  and  dejected ;  he  appeared  to  have  suddenly 
grown  old.  Jake  watched  the  scene  with  a  sneer  on 
his  brutal  face,  but  remained  silent  now  that  Diane  was 
present. 

*'  I  will  rouse  him  myself,"  she  said  quietly,  moving 
toward  the  door.  "  Yes,  you  shall  see  him,  Archie.  I 
heard   what    you    said    just   now%   and   I'll   tell   him. 

But "     She  broke  off,  hesitating.     Then  she  came 

back  to  him.  **  Is — is  your  father  dead,  or — only 
wounded  ?  " 

The  boy's  head  dropped  forward,  and  two  great  tears 
rolled  slowly  down  his  cheeks.  Diane  turned  away, 
and  a  far-off  look  came  into  her  steady  brown  eyes. 
There  was  a  silence  for  a  moment,  then  a  deep,  heart- 
broken sob  came  from  the  lad  at  her  side.     She  flashed 


io8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

one  hard  glance  in  Jake's  direction  and  turned  to  her 
companion,  gently  gripping  his  arm  in  a  manner  that 
expressed  a  world  of  wom.anly  sympathy.  Her  touch, 
her  quiet,  strong  helpfulness,  did  more  for  him  than  any 
formal  words  of  condolence  could  have  done.  He 
lifted  his  head  and  dashed  the  tears  from  his  face ;  and 
the  girl  smiled  encouragement  upon  him. 

"  Wait  here,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  go  and  fetch  father.' 

She  slipped  away,  leaving  the  two  men  alone.  And 
when  she  had  gone,  the  foreman's  raucous  voice  sounded 
harshly  on  the  still  air. 

"  Say,  you  ain't  smart,  neither.  We  got  one  of  your 
kidney  around  here  now.  Kind  o'  reckons  to  fix  the 
old  man  through  the  girl.  Most  weak-kneed  fellers 
gamble  a  pile  on  petticoats.  Wal,  I  guess  you're  right 
out.  Marbolt  ain't  easy  that  way.  You'll  be  sorry  yoi? 
fetched  him  from  his  bed,  or  I  don't  know  him." 

Archie  made  no  reply.  Nor  was  any  more  talk  pos- 
sible, for  at  that  moment  there  came  the  steady  tap, 
tap,  of  the  blind  man's  stick  down  the  passage,  and  the 
two  men  faced  the  door  expectantly.  The  rancher 
shuffled  out  on  to  the  verandah.  Diane  was  at  his  side, 
and  led  him  straight  over  to  young  Orr.  The  old 
man's  head  was  poised  alertly  for  a  second  ;  then  he 
turned  swifdy  in  the  foreman's  direction, 

"  Hah  1  that  you,  Jake  ?  "  He  nodded  as  he  spoke, 
and  then  turned  back  to  the  other.  The  blind  man's 
instinct  seemed  something  more  than  human. 

'*  Eh  ?  Your  father  murdered,  boy  ?  "  Marbolt  ques- 
tioned, without  the  least  softening  of  tone.  "  Mur- 
dered ?  " 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  109 

Archie  gulped  down  his  rising  emotion.  But  there 
was  no  Hfe  in  his  answer — his  words  came  in  a  tone  of 
utter  hopelessness. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  shot  down,  I  gather,  in  defense  of  our 
homestead." 

The  steady  stare  of  the  rancher's  red  eyes  was  hard 
to  support.  Archie  felt  himself  weaken  before  the  per- 
sonality of  this  man  he  had  come  to  see. 

*'  Gather  ?  " 

The  hardness  of  his  greeting  had  now  changed  to  the 
gentleness  of  tone  in  which  the  blind  man  usually  spoke. 
But  the  boy  drew  no  confidence  from  it  while  confronted 
by  those  unseeing  eyes.  It  was  Diane  who  understood 
and  replied  for  him. 

"  Yes  ;  Archie  was  in  Forks  last  night,  on  business, 
father.  He  only  learned  what  had  happened  on  re- 
turning home  this  afternoon.  He — he  wants  some 
help." 

"Yes,  sir,"  Archie  went  on  quickly ;"  only  a  little 
help.  I  came  home  to  find  our  homestead  burned  clean 
out.  Not  a  roof  left  to  shelter  my  mother  and  sister, 
and  not  one  living  beast  left  upon  the  place,  except 
the  dogs.  Oh,  my  God,  it  is  awful !  Mother  and  Alice 
were  sitting  beside  the  corral  gate  weeping  fit  to  break 
their  hearts  over  the  dead  body  of  father  when  I  found 
them.  And  the  story,  as  I  learned  it,  sir,  was  simple — 
horribly,  terribly  simple.  They  were  roused  at  about 
two  in  the  morning  by  the  dogs  barking.  Father, 
thinking  timber  wolves  were  around,  went  out  with  a 
gun.  He  saw  nothing  till  he  got  to  the  corrals.  Then 
mother,   watching  from  her  window,  saw  the  flash  of 


no  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

several  guns,  and  heard  the  rattle  of  their  reports. 
Father  dropped.  Then  the  gang  of  murderers  roused 
out  the  stock,  and  some  drove  it  off,  while  others 
wantonly  fired  the  buildings.  It  was  Red  Mask,  sir,  for 
he  came  up  to  the  house  and  ordered  mother  out  be- 
fore the  place  was  fired.  She  is  sure  it  was  him  be- 
cause of  his  mask.  She  begged  him  not  to  burn  her 
home,  but  the  devil  had  no  remorse  ;  he  vouchsafed 
only  one  reply.  Maybe  she  forced  him  to  an  answer 
with  her  appeal ;  maybe  he  only  spoke  to  intimidate 
others  who  might  hear  of  his  words  from  her.  Any- 
way, he  said,  '  Your  man  and  you  open  your  mouths 
too  wide  around  this  place.  Manson  Orr  wrote  in  to 
the  police,  and  asked  for  protection.  You  won't  need 
it  now,  neither  will  he.'  "  He  paused,  while  the  horror 
of  his  story  sank  deeply  into  the  heart  of  at  least  one 
of  his  hearers.  Then  he  went  on  with  that  eager, 
nervous  fire  he  had  at  first  displayed  :  "  Mr.  Marbolt, 
I  look  to  you  to  help  me.  I've  got  nothing  to  keep  me 
now  from  following  this  devil  of  a  man.  I  want  to 
borrow  horses,  and  I'll  hunt  him  down.  I'll  hunt  him 
down  while  I've  a  breath  left  in  my  body,  sir,"  he  went 
on,  with  rising  passion.  "  I'll  pay  him  if  it  takes  me 
my  lifetime  !  Only  lend  me  the  horses,  sir.  It  is  as 
much  to  your  interest  as  mine,  for  he  has  robbed  you 
before  now  ;  your  property  is  no  more  safe  than  any 
other  man's.  Let  us  combine  to  fight  him,  to  bring 
him  down,  to  measure  him  his  full  measure,  to  send 

him  to  hell,  where  he  belongs.     I'll  do  this " 

"  Yes,  while  your  mother  and  sister  starve,"  put  in 
the  blind  man,  drily.     Then,  as  the  fire  of  Archie's  pas- 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  iii 

sion  suddenly  sank  at  the  cold,  incisive  words,  and  he 
remained  silent  and  abashed,  he  went  on,  in  quiet,  even 
tones,  while  his  red  eyes  were  focussed  upon  his  vis- 
itor's face  with  disconcerting  directness,  "  No,  no  ;  go 
you — I  won't  say  '  home,'  but  go  you  to  your  mother 
and  sister :  look  after  them,  care  for  them,  work  for 
them.  You  owe  that  to  them  before  any  act  of  venge- 
ance be  made.  When  you  have  achieved  their  com- 
fort, you  are  at  liberty  to  plunge  into  any  rashness  you 
choose.  I  am  no  youngster,  Archie  Orr,  I  am  a  man 
of  years,  who  has  seen,  all  my  life,  only  through  a  brain 
rendered  doubly  acute  by  lack  of  sight,  and  my  advice  is 
worthy  of  your  consideration.  You  have  nothing  more 
to  fear  from  Red  Mask  at  present,  but  if  you  continue 
your  headlong  course  you  wiD.  have  ;  and,  as  far  as  I 
can  make  out,  his  hand  is  heavy  and  swift  in  falling. 
Go  back  to  your  women-folk,  I  say.  You  can  get  no 
horses  from  me  for  such  a  foolhardy  purpose  as  you 
meditate." 

Diane  had  watched  her  father  closely,  and  as  he  fin- 
ished speaking,  she  moved  toward  the  bereaved  man 
and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm  in  gentle  appeal. 

*'  Father  is  right,  Archie.  Go  back  to  them,  those 
two  lonely,  broken-hearted  women.  You  can  do  all 
for  them  if  you  will.  They  need  all  that  your  kind, 
honest  heart  can  bestow.  It  is  now  that  you  must  show 
the  stufi  you  are  made  of." 

Archie  had  turned  away  ;  but  he  looked  round  and 
mechanically  glanced  down  at  the  brown  hand  still 
resting  upon  his  arm.  The  sight  of  it  held  him  for 
some  moments,  and   when  he  raised  his  head  a  new 


112  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

look  was  in  his  eyes.  The  sympathy  in  her  tones,  tne 
gentle  encouragement  of  the  few  words  she  had  spoken, 
had  completed  that  which  the  sound  but  unsympathetic 
advice  of  her  father  had  begun. 

His  purpose  had  been  the  wild  impulse  of  unstable 
youth  ;  there  was  no  strength  to  it,  no  real  resolution. 
Besides,  he  was  a  gentle-hearted  lad,  to  whom  Diane's 
appeal  for  his  mother  and  sister  v/as  irresistible. 

''  Thank  you.  Miss  Diane,"  he  said,  with  a  profound 
sigh.  "  Your  kind  heart  has  seen  where  my  anger  has 
been  blind.  Yes,  I  will  return  and  help  my  mother- 
And  I  thank  you,  sir,"  he  went  on,  turning  reluctantly 
to  face  the  stare  of  the  rancher's  eyes  again.  "  You, 
too,  have  plainly  shown  me  my  duty,  and  I  shall  follow 
it,  but — if  ever " 

"  And  you'll  do  well,"  broke  in  Jake,  with  a  rough 
laugh  that  jarred  terribly.  "Your  father's  paid  his 
pound.     If  his  son's  wise,  he'll  hunt  his  hole." 

Archie's  eyes  flashed  ominously.  Diane  saw  the 
look,  and,  in  an  instant,  drew  his  attention  to  his  horse, 
which  was  moving  ofT  toward  the  barn. 

*'  See,  Archie,"  she  said,  with  a  gentle  smile,  ''  your 
horse  is  weary,  and  is  looking  for  rest." 

The  boy  read  her  meaning.  He  held  out  his  hand 
impulsively,  and  the  girl  placed  hers  into  it.  In  a  mo- 
ment his  other  had  closed  over  it,  and  he  shook  it  ten- 
derly. Then,  without  a  word,  he  made  ofT  after  his 
horse. 

The  blind  man's  face  was  turned  in  his  direction  as 
he  went,  and  when  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had  died 
away,  he  turned  abruptly  and  tapped  his  way  back  to 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  113 

the  door.  At  the  threshold  he  turned  upon  the  fore- 
man. 

*'  Two  days  in  succession  I  have  been  disturbed,"  he 
gritted  out.  "  You  are  getting  past  your  work,  Jake 
Harnach." 

''Father "     Diane  started  forward  in  alarm,  but 

he  cut  her  short. 

"  And  as  for  you,  miss,  remember  your  place  in  my 
house.  Go,  look  to  your  duties.  Sweep,  wash,  cook, 
sew.  Those  are  the  things  your  sex  is  made  for. 
What  interest  have  you,  dare  you  have,  in  that  brain- 
less boy?  Let  him  fight  his  own  batdes.  It  may 
make  a  man  of  him  ;  though  I  doubt  it.  He  is  nothing 
to  you." 

Diane  shrank  before  the  scathing  blast  of  that  sight- 
less fury.     But  she  rallied  to  protest. 

**  It  is  the  women-folk,  father." 

*' Women-folk  ?     Bah!" 

He  threw  up  his  hands  in  ineffable  scorn,  and  shuffled 
away  into  the  house. 

Jake,  still  smarting  under  the  attack,  stood  leaning 
against  the  verandah  post.  He  was  looking  away 
down  at  the  bunkhouse,  where  a  group  of  the  men  were 
gathered  about  Archie  Orr,  who,  seated  on  his  horse, 
was  evidently  telling  his  tale  afresh. 

Diane  approached  him.  He  did  not  even  tur-*^.  to 
meet  her. 

"  Jake,  I  want  Bess  at  once.  Hitch  her  to  the  buck- 
board,  and  have  her  sent  round  to  the  kitchen  door." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do,  my  girl?"  he  asked, 
without  shifting  his  gaze. 


114  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Maybe  I  shall  drive  over  to  see  those  poor  women." 

**  Maybe?" 

"  Yes." 

**  You  can't  have  her." 

Jake  turned,  and  looked  down  at  her  from  his  great 
height.     Archie  Orr  had  just  ridden  off. 

Diane  returned  his  look  fearlessly,  and  there  was 
something  in  the  directness  of  her  gaze  that  made  the 
giant  look  away. 

"  I  think  I  can,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Go  and  see  to 
it  now." 

The  man  started.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  about  to 
bluster.  His  bold,  black  eyes  flashed  ominously,  and 
it  was  plain  from  his  attitude  that  a  flat  and  harsh  re- 
fusal was  on  his  lips.  But  somehow  he  didn't  say  it. 
The  brutality  of  his  expression  slowly  changed  as  he 
looked  at  her.  A  gentle  light  stole  slowly,  and  it 
seemed  with  difificulty,  into  his  eyes,  where  it  looked  as 
out  of  place  as  the  love-light  in  the  eyes  of  a  tiger. 
But  there  was  no  mistaking  it.  However  incongruous 
it  was  there,  and  the  lips  that  had  been  framing  a  cruel 
retort  merely  gave  utterance  to  a  quiet  acquiescence. 

**  All  right.    I'll  send  her  round  in  five  minutes." 

And  Diane  went  into  the  house  at  once. 

Meanwhile,  a  great  discussion  of  young  Orr's  affairs 
was  going  on  at  the  bunkhouse.  Arizona  had  vacated 
his  favorite  seat,  and  was  now  holding  the  floor.  His 
pale  face  was  flushed  with  a  hectic  glow  of  excitement. 
He  was  taxing  his  little  stock  of  strength  to  the  utter- 
most, and,  at  least,  some  of  those  looking  on  listening 
to  him  knew  it. 


THE  KILLING  OF  M ANSON  ORR  115 

"  I  tell  you  ther'  ain't  nothin'  fer  it  but  to  roll  up  to 
old  blind  hulks  an'  ast  him  to  send  us  out.  Ef  this 
dog-gone  skunk's  let  be,  ther'  ain't  no  stock  safe. 
Guess  I've  had  my  med'cine  from  'em,  and  I'm  jest 
crazy  fer  more.  I've  had  to  do  wi'  fellers  o'  their  kid- 
ney 'fore,  I  guess.  We  strung  six  of  'em  up  in  a  day 
on  the  same  tree  down  Arizona  way,  as  that  gray- 
headed  possum,  Joe  Nelson,  well  remembers.  Say,  we 
jest  cleaned  our  part  o'  that  country  right  quick. 
Guess  ther'  wa'n't  a  *  bad  man '  wuth  two  plugs  o' 
nickel  chewin'  around  when  we'd  finished  gettin'  'em. 
Say,  this  feller's  played  it  long  enough,  an'  I'm  goin' 
right  now  to  see  the  boss.  He's  around.  Who's 
comin'  ?  " 

"Yes,  an'  Archie  Orr's  a  pore  sort  o'  crittur  to  git 
left  wi'  two  women-folk,"  said  Raw  Harris,  rising  from 
his  upturned  bucket  and  putting  forth  his  argument, 
regardless  of  its  irrelevance.  "  Not  a  stick  to  shelter 
him — which  I  mean  *  them.'  An'  not  a  dog-gone  cent 
among  'em.     By  G ,  Arizona's  right." 

"  That's  it,"  put  in  Joe  Nelson  ;  '*  you've  hit  it.  Not 
a  dog-gone  cent  among  'em,  an',  what's  more,  owin' 
blind  hulks  a  whole  heap  o'  bills  on  mortgage.  Say, 
that  was  mostly  a  weak  move  him  askin'  the  boss  fer 
help.  Why,  I  guess  old  Marbolt  hates  hisself  on'y  one 
shade  wuss'n  he  hated  Manson  Orr.  Say,  boys,  ef 
we're  askin'  to  lynch  Red  Mask,  we  ain't  askin'  in  any 
fancy  name  like  *  Orr.'     Savee  ?  " 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  while  they  digested 
the  wisdom  of  the  suggestion.  Then  Jacob  Smith 
nodded,  and  Lew  Cawley  murmured  — 


Ii6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

'*  Dead  gut  every  time,  is  Joe." 

This  loosened  their  tongues  again  until  Tresler  spoke. 

"  See  here,  boys,  you're  talking  of  lynching,  and 
haven't  a  notion  of  how  you're  going  to  get  your  man. 
Don't  even  know  where  to  lay  hands  on  him.  Do  you 
think  Marbolt's  going  to  turn  us  all  loose  on  the  war- 
path ?  Not  he.  And  how  are  two  or  three  of  us  go- 
ing to  get  a  gang  of  ten  or  twelve  ?  Besides,  I  believe 
it'll  be  easier  to  get  him  without  a  lynching  party.  Re- 
member he's  no  ordinary  cattle-rustler.  I  say  lie  low, 
he'll  come  our  way,  and  then " 

**  That's  it,  lie  low,"  broke  in  Joe  Nelson,  shaking 
his  gray  head  over  a  pannikin  of  tea,  and  softly  blow- 
ing a  clearing  among  the  dead  flies  floating  on  its  sur- 
face. "Maybe  y'  ain't  heard  as  the  sheriff's  come 
around  Forks.     Guess  he's  fixed  a  station  ther'." 

"  He's  already  done  so  ?  "  asked  Tresler. 

"  Yup." 

**  By  Jove  I  The  very  thing,  boys.  Don't  roll  up. 
Don't  do  any  lynching.  The  sheriff's  the  boy  for  Red 
Mask." 

But  Arizona,  backed  by  Raw  Harris,  would  have 
none  of  it.  They  were  of  the  old-time  stock  who  un- 
derstood only  old-time  methods,  and  cordially  resented 
any  peaceful  solution  to  the  difficulty.  They  w^anted  a 
lynching,  and  no  argument  would  dissuade  them.  And 
after  much  discussion  it  was  Arizona's  final  word  that 
carried  the  day 

**  Now,  you  see,  Tresler,"  he  said  huskily,  for  his 
voice  was  tired  with  sustained  effort.  '*  You're  the  re- 
markablest  smart  *  tenderfoot '  that  ever  I  see.     Say, 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  117 

you're  a  right  smart  daddy — an'  I  ain't  given  to  lath- 
erin'  soap-suds  neitlier.  But  ther's  suthin's  I  calc'late 
that  no  '  tenderfoot,'  smart  as  he  may  be,  is  goin'  to 
locate  right.  Hoss  thieves  is  hoss  thieves,  an'  needs 
stringin'.  Ther'  ain't  nuthin'  for  it  but  a  rav/hide  rope 
fer  them  fellers.  Guess  I've  seen  more'n  you've  heerd 
tell  of.  Say,  boys,  who's  goin'  to  see  the  boss  ?  Guess 
he's  right  ther'  on  the  verandah." 

Though  there  was  no  verbal  reply  as  the  wild  Ameri- 
can turned  to  move  off,  there  was  a  general  movement 
to  follow  him.  Raw  Harris  started  it.  Pannikins  were 
set  down  upon  the  ground,  and,  to  a  man,  the  rest  fol- 
lowed in  their  leader's  wake.  Tresler  w^ent  too,  but  he 
went  only  because  he  knew  it  would  be  useless — even 
dangerous — to  hold  back.  The  general  inclination  was 
to  follow  the  lead  of  this  volcanic  man.  Besides,  he  had 
only  voiced  that  which  appealed  to  them  all.  The 
gospel  of  restraint  was  not  in  their  natures.  Only  Joe 
Nelson  really  endorsed  Tresler's  opinion.  But  then 
Joe  was  a  man  who  had  lived  his  youth  out,  and  had 
acquired  that  level-headedness  from  experience  which 
Tresler  possessed  instinctively.  Besides,  he  was  in 
touch  with  Diane.  He  had  lived  more  than  ten  years 
on  that  ranch,  during  which  time  he  had  stood  by 
watching  with  keenly  observant  eyes  the  doings  of  the 
cattle  world  about  him.  But  he,  too,  in  spite  of  his  own 
good  reason,  moved  on  to  the  verandah  with  the  rest. 

And  Jake  saw  the  movement  and  understood,  and  he 
reached  the  verandah  first  and  warned  the  blind  man 
of  their  coming. 

And  Tresler's  prophecy  was  more  than  fulfilled.     As 


Ii8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

they  came  they  saw  the  rancher  rise  from  his  seat.  He 
faced  them,  a  tall,  awesome  figure  in  his  long,  full 
dressing-gown.  His  large,  clean-cut  head,  his  gray, 
clipped  beard,  the  long  aquiline  nose,  and,  overshadow- 
ing all,  his  staring,  red  eyes  ;  even  on  Arizona  he  had 
a  damping  effect. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  questioned,  as  the  men  halted  before 
him.  Then,  as  no  answer  was  forthcoming,  he  repeated 
his  inquiry.     "  Well  ?  " 

And  Arizona  stepped  to  the  front.  **  Wal,  boss,  it's 
this  a-ways,"  he  began.     **  These  rustlers,  I  guess  — — " 

But  the  blind  man  cut  him  short.  The  frowning 
brows  drew  closer  over  the  sightless  eyes,  which  were 
focussed  upon  the  cowpuncher  with  a  concentration 
more  overpowering  than  if  their  vision  had  been  unim- 
paired. 

"  Eh?  So  you've  been  listening  to  young  Orr,"  he 
said,  with  a  quietness  in  marked  contrast  to  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face.  '*  And  you  want  to  get  after  them?  " 
Then  he  shook  his  head,  and  the  curious  depression  of 
his  brows  relaxed,  and  a  smile  hovered  round  his 
mouth.  **  No,  no,  boys  ;  it's  useless  coming  to  me. 
Worse  than  useless.  You,  Arizona,  should  know  better. 
There  are  not  enough  ranches  round  here  to  form  a 
lynching  party,  if  one  were  advisable.  And  I  can't 
spare  men  from  here.  Why,  to  send  enough  men  from 
here  to  deal  with  this  gang  would  leave  my  place  at 
their  mercy.  Tut,  tut,  it  is  impossible.  You  must  see 
it  yourselves." 

"  But  you've  been  robbed  before,  sir,"  Arizona  broke 
out  in  protest. 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  119 

**  Yes,  yes."  There  was  a  grating  of  impatience  in 
the  blind  man's  voice,  and  the  smile  had  vanished. 
'*  And  I  prefer  to  be  robbed  of  a  few  beeves  again  rather 
than  run  the  chance  of  being  burned  out  by  those 
scoundrels.  Fll  have  no  argument  about  the  matter. 
I  can  spare  no  hand  among  you.  Fll  not  police  this 
district  for  anybody.  You  understand — for  anybody. 
I  will  not  stop  you — ^any  of  you  " — his  words  came 
with  a  subtle  fierceness  now,  and  were  directed  at 
Arizona — *'  but  of  this  I  assure  you,  any  man  who  leaves 
this  ranch  to  set  out  on  any  wild-goose  chase  after 
these  rustlers  leaves  it  for  good.  That's  all  I  have  to 
say." 

Arizona  was  about  to  retort  hotly,  but  Tresler,  who 
was  standing  close  up  to  him,  plucked  at  his  shirt-sleeve, 
and,  strangely  enough,  his  interference  had  its  efTect. 
The  man  glared  round,  but  when  he  saw  who  it  was 
that  had  interrupted  him,  he  made  no  further  effort  to 
speak.  The  wild  man  of  the  prairie  was  feeling  the 
influence  of  a  stronger,  or,  at  least,  a  steadier  nature 
than  his  own.  And  Jake's  lynx  eyes  watching  saw  the 
movement,  and  he  understood. 

The  men  moved  reluctantly  away.  Their  moody 
looks  and  slouching  gait  loudly  voiced  their  feelings. 
No  words  passed  between  them  until  they  were  well 
out  of  ear-shot.  And  Tresler  realized  now  the  wonder- 
ful power  of  brain  behind  the  sightless  eyes  of  the 
rancher.  Now,  he  understood  something  of  the  strength 
which  had  fought  the  battle,  sightless  though  he  was, 
of  those  early  days ;  now  he  comprehended  the  man 
who  could  employ  a  man  of  Jake's  character,  and  have 


I20  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

strength  enough  to  control  him.  That  afternoon's  ex- 
hibition made  a  profound  impression  on  him. 

Their  supper  was  finished  before  they  set  out  for  the 
house,  and  now  the  men,  murmuring,  discontented, 
and  filled  with  resentment  against  the  rancher,  loafed 
idly  around  the  bunkhouse.  They  smoked  and  chewed 
and  discussed  the  matter  as  angry  men  who  are 
thwarted  in  their  plans  will  ever  do.  Tresler  and  Joe 
alone  remained  quiet.  Tresler,  for  the  reason  that  a 
definite  plan  was  gradually  forming  in  his  brain  out  of 
the  chaos  of  events,  and  Joe  because  he  was  watching 
the  other  for  his  own  obscure  reasons. 

The  sun  had  set  when  Tresler  separated  himself  from 
his  companions.  Making  his  way  down  past  the  lower 
corrals  he  took  himself  to  the  ford.  Joe  thoughtfully 
watched  him  go. 

Seated  on  a  fallen  tree-trunk  Tresler  pondered  long 
and  deeply.  He  was  thinking  of  Joe's  information  that 
the  sheriff  had  at  last  set  up  a  station  at  Forks.  Why 
should  he  not  carry  his  story  to  him  ?  Why  should  he 
not  take  this  man  into  his  confidence,  and  so  work  out 
the  trapping  of  the  gang?     And,  if  Jake  were 

He  had  no  time  to  proceed  further.  His  thoughts 
were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  wheels,  followed,  a 
moment  later,  by  the  splash  of  a  horse  crossing  the 
ford.  He  turned  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound 
came,  and  beheld  Bessie  hauling  a  buckboard  up  the 
bank  of  the  river  ;  at  the  same  instant  he  recognized  the 
only  occupant  of  the  vehicle.  It  was  Diane  returning 
from  her  errand  of  mercy. 

Tresler  sprang  to  his  feet.     He  doffed  his  prairie  hat 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  121 

as  the  buckboard  drew  abreast  of  him.  Nor  was  he 
unmindful  of  the  sudden  flush  that  surged  to  the  girl's 
cheeks  as  she  recognized  him.  Without  any  intention 
Diane  checked  the  mare,  and,  a  moment  later,  realizing 
what  she  had  done,  she  urged  her  on  with  unnecessary 
energy.  But  Tresler  had  no  desire  that  she  should 
pass  him  in  that  casual  fashion,  and,  with  a  disarming 
smile,  hailed  her. 

"  Don't  change  a  good  mind,  Miss  Marbolt,"  he  cried. 

Whereat  the  blush  returned  to  the  girl's  cheek  in- 
tensified, for  she  knew  that  he  had  seen  her  intention. 
This  time,  however,  she  pulled  up  decidedly,  and  turned 
a  smiling  face  to  him. 

*'  This  is  better  than  I  bargained  for,"  he  went  on. 
"  I  came  here  to  think  the  afternoon's  events  out,  and — 
I  meet  you.     I  had  no  idea  you  were  out." 

**  I  felt  that  Bess  wanted  exercise,"  the  girl  answered 
evasively. 

Without  asking  herself  why,  Diane  felt  pleased  at 
meeting  this  man.  Their  first  encounter  had  been  no 
ordinary  one.  From  the  beginning  he  seemed  to  link 
himself  with  her  life.  For  her  their  hours  of  acquaint- 
ance might  have  been  years ;  years  of  mutual  help  and 
confidence.  However,  she  gathered  her  reins  up  as 
though  to  drive  oa     Tresler  promptly  stayed  her. 

**  No,  don't  go  yet,  Miss  Marbolt,  please.  Pleasures 
that  come  unexpectedly  are  pleasures  indeed.  I  feel 
sure  you  will  not  cast  me  back  upon  my  gloomy 
thoughts." 

Diane  let  the  reins  fall  into  her  lap. 

"  So   your    thoughts   were   gloomy ;   well,    I   don't 


122  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

wonder  at  it  There  are  gloomy  things  happening.  I 
was  out  driving,  and  thought  I  would  look  in  at  Mos- 
quito Reach.     It  has  been  razed  to  the  ground." 

"You  have  been  to  see — and  help — young  Orr's 
mother  and  sister?  I  know  it.  It  was  like  you,  Miss 
Marbolt,"  Tresler  said,  with  a  genuine  look  of  admira- 
tion at  the  dark  little  face  so  overshadowed  by  the  sun- 
hat. 

**  Don't  be  so  ready  to  credit  me  with  virtues  I  do  not 
possess.  We  women  are  curious.  Curiosity  is  one  of 
our  most  pronounced  features.  Poor  souls — their  home 
is  gone.  Utterly — utterly  gone.  Oh,  Mr.  Tresler, 
what  are  we  to  do  ?  We  cannot  remain  silent,  and  yet 
—we  don't  know.     We  can  prove  nothing." 

**  And  what  has  become  of  them — I  mean  Mrs.  Orr 
and  her  daughter?"  Tresler  asked,  for  the  moment 
ignoring  the  girl's  question. 

•*  They  have  gone  into  Forks." 

"  And  food  and  money  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  to  that."  Diane  shrugged  her  shoulders 
to  make  light  of  what  she  had  done,  but  Tresler  would 
not  be  put  off. 

*'  Bless  you  for  that,"  he  said,  with  simple  earnest- 
ness. "  I  knew  I  was  right."  Then  he  reverted 
abruptly  to  her  question.  "  But  we  can  do  something  ; 
the  sherilT  has  come  to  Forks." 

"  Yes,  I  know."  Diane's  tone  suddenly  became 
eager,  almost  hopeful.  "  And  father  knows,  and  he  is 
going  to  send  in  a  letter  to  Fyles — Sheriff  Fyles  is  the 
great  prairie  detective,  and  is  in  charge  of  Forks — 
welcoming   him,  and   inviting  him   out  here.     He  is 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  123 

going  to  tell  him  all  he  knows  of  these  rustlers,  and  so 
endeavor  to  set  him  on  their  track.  Father  laughs  at 
the  idea  of  the  sheriff  catching  these  men.  He  says 
that  they — the  rustlers — are  no  ordinary  gang,  but 
clever  men,  and  well  organized.  But  he  thinks  that  if 
he  gets  Fyles  around  it  will  save  his  property." 

"  And  your  father  is  wise.  Yes,  it  will  certainly  have 
that  effect ;  but  I,  too,  have  a  little  idea  that  I  have  been 
working  at,  and — Miss  Marbolt,  forgive  the  seeming 
impertinence,  but  I  want  to  discuss  Jake  again ;  this 
time  from  a  personal  point  of  view.  You  dislike  Jake  ; 
more,  you  have  shown  me  that  you  fear  him." 

The  girl  hesitated  before  replying.  This  man's 
almost  brusque  manner  of  driving  straight  to  his  point 
was  somewhat  alarming.  He  gave  her  no  loophole. 
If  she  discussed  the  matter  with  him  at  all  it  must  be 
fully,  or  she  must  refuse  to  answer  him. 

''I  suppose  I  do  fear  him,"  she  said  at  last  with  a 
sigh.  Then  her  face  suddenly  lit  up  with  an  angry 
glow.  "  I  fear  him  as  any  girl  would  fear  the  man  who, 
in  defiance  of  her  expressed  hatred,  thrusts  his  atten- 
tions upon  her.  I  fear  him  because  of  father's  blindness. 
I  fear  him  because  he  hopes  in  his  secret  heart  some 
day  to  own  this  ranch,  these  lands,  all  these  splendid 
cattle,  our  fortune.  Father  will  be  gone  then.  How  ? 
I  don't  know.  And  I — I  shall  be  Jake's  slave.  These 
are  the  reasons  why  I  fear  Jake,  Mr.  Tresler,  since  you 
insist  on  knowing." 

"  I  thank  you.  Miss  Marbolt."  The  gentle  tone  at 
once  dispelled  the  girl's  resentment.  "You  have 
suspicions  which  may  prove  to  be  right.     It  was  for 


124  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

this  reason  I  asked  you  to  discuss  Jake.  One  thing 
more  and  I'll  have  done.  This  Joe  Nelson,  he  is  very 
shrewd,  he  is  in  close  contact  with  you.  How  far  is  he 
to  be  trusted  ?  '* 

**  To  any  length ;  with  your  life,  Mr.  Tresler/'  the 
girl  said  with  enthusiasm.  "  Joe  is  nobody's  enemy 
but  his  own,  poor  fellow.  I  am  ashamed  to  admit  it, 
but  I  have  long  since  realized  that  when  things  bother 
me  so  that  I  cannot  bear  them  all  alone,  it  is  Joe  that 
I  look  to  for  help.  He  is  so  kind.  Oh,  Mr.  Tresler, 
you  cannot  understand  the  gentleness,  the  sympathy 
of  his  honest  old  heart.     I  am  very,  very  fond  of  Joe." 

The  man  abruptly  moved  from  his  stand  at  the  side  of 
the  buckboard,  and  looked  along  the  trail  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  ranch.  His  action  was  pardy  to  check  an 
impulse  which  the  girl's  manner  had  roused  in  him,  and 
partly  because  his  quick  ears  had  caught  the  sound  of 
some  one  approaching.  He  was  master  of  himself  in 
a  moment,  however,  and,  returning,  smiled  up  into  the 
serious  eyes  before  him. 

*•  Well,  Joe  shall  help  me,"  he  said.  ''  He  shall  help 
me  as  he  has  helped  you.  If "  he  broke  off,  listen- 
ing. Then  with  great  deliberation  he  came  close  up 
to  the  buckboard.  "  Miss — Diane,"  he  said,  and  the 
girl's  lids  lowered  before  the  earnestness  of  his  gaze, 
"  you  shall  never — while  I  live — be  the  slave  of  Jake 
Harnach." 

Nor  had  Tresler  time  to  move  away  before  a  tall 
figure  rounded  the  bend  of  the  trail.  In  the  dusk  he 
mistook  the  newcomer  for  Jake,  then,  as  he  saw  how 
slim  be  was,  he  realized  his  mistake. 


THE  KILLING  OF  MANSON  ORR  125 

The  man  came  right  up  to  the  buckboard  with  swift, 
ahiiost  stealthy  strides.  The  dark  olive  of  his  com- 
plexion, the  high  cheek-bones,  the  delicately  chiseled, 
aquiline  nose,  the  perfectly  penciled  eyebrows  sur- 
mounting the  quick,  keen,  handsome  black  eyes ;  these 
things  combined  with  the  lithe,  sinuous  grace  of  an 
admirably  poised  body  made  him  a  figure  of  much  at- 
traction. 

The  man  ignored  Tresler,  and  addressed  the  girl  in 
the  buckboard  in  a  tone  that  made  the  former's  blood 
boil. 

"The  boss,  him  raise  hell.  Him  say,  'I  mak'  her 
wish  she  not  been  born  any  more.'  Him  say,  '  Go  you, 
Anton,  an'  find  her,  an'  you  not  leave  her  but  bring  her 
back.'  Ho,  the  boss,  your  father,  he  mad.  Hah?" 
The  half-breed  grinned,  and  displayed  a  flashing  set  of 
teeth.  "  So  I  go,"  he  went  on,  still  smiling  in  his 
impudent  manner.  **  I  look  out.  I  see  the  buckboard 
come  down  to  the  river.  I  know  you  come.  I  see 
from  there  back  " — he  pointed  away  to  the  bush — "  you 
talk  with  this  man,  an'  I  wait.     So  ! " 

Diane  was  furious.  Her  gentle  brown  eyes  flashed, 
and  two  bright  patches  of  color  burned  on  her  cheeks. 
The  half-breed  watched  her  carelessly.  Turning  to 
Tresler  she  held  out  her  hand  abruptly. 

*'  Good-night,  Mr.  Tresler,"  she  said  quietly.  Then 
she  chirruped  to  her  light-hearted  mare  and  drove  ofT. 

Anton  looked  after  her.  "  Sacre  !  "  he  cried,  with  a 
light  shrug.  *'  She  is  so  mad — so  mad.  Voila  !  "  and 
he  leisurely  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  buckboard. 

And  Tresler  looked  after  him.     Then  it  was  that  his 


126  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

thoughts  reverted  to  the  scene  in  the  saloon  at  Forks. 
So  this  was  Anton — "  Black  "  Anton — the  man  who 
had  slid  into  the  country  without  any  one  knowing  it. 
He  remembered  Slum  Ranks's  words  and  description. 
This  was  the  man  who  had  the  great  Jake's  measure. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHICH   DEALS  WITH   THE   MATTER   OF  DRINK 

Although  the  murder  of  Manson  Orr  caused  a 
wide-spread  outcry,  it  ended  at  that  in  so  far  as  the  in- 
habitants of  the  district  were  concerned.  There  were 
one  or  two  individuals  who  pondered  deeply  on  the 
matter,  and  went  quietly  about  a  careful  investigation, 
and  of  these  Tresler  was  the  most  prominent.  He 
found  excuse  to  visit  the  scene  of  the  outrage  ;  he  took 
interest  in  the  half-breed  settlement  six  miles  out  from 
Mosquito  Bend.  He  hunted  among  the  foot-hills,  even 
into  the  obscurer  confines  of  the  mountains  ;  and  these 
doings  of  his  were  the  result  of  much  thought,  and  the 
work  of  much  time  and  ingenuity ;  for  everything  had 
to  be  done  without  raising  the  suspicion  of  anybody  on 
the  ranch,  or  for  that  matter,  ofi  it.  Being  a  **  green  " 
hand  helped  him.  It  was  really  astonishing  how 
easily  an  intelligent  man  like  Tresler  could  get  lost ; 
and  yet  such  was  the  deplorable  fact.  Even  Arizona's 
opinion  of  him  sank  to  zero,  while  Jake  found  a  wide 
scope  for  his  sneering  brutality. 

As  the  days  lengthened  out  into  a  week,  and  then  a 
fortnight  passed  and  nothing  more  w^as  heard  of  Red 
Mask,  the  w^hole  matter  began  to  pass  out  of  mind,  and 
gradually  became  relegated  to  the  lore  of  the  country. 
It   was  added   to   the   already   long   list  of  barroom 


128  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

stories,  to  be  narrated,  with  embellishments,  by  such 
men  as  Slum  or  the  worthy  Forks  carpenter. 

The  only  thing  that  stuck  in  people's  minds,  and  that 
only  because  it  added  fuel  to  an  already  deep,  abiding, 
personal  hatred,  was  the  story  of  Julian  Marbolt's  treat- 
ment of  young  Archie  Orr,  and  his  refusal  to  inaugurate 
a  vigilance  party.  The  blind  man's  name,  always  one 
to  rouse  the  roughest  side  of  men's  tongues,  was  now 
cursed  more  bitterly  than  ever. 

And  during  these  days  the  bunkhouse  at  Mosquito 
Bend  seethed  with  revolt.  But  though  this  was  so,  un- 
derneath all  their  most  bitter  reflections  the  men  were 
not  without  a  faint  hope  of  seeing  the  career  of  these 
desperadoes  cut  short ;  and  this  hope  sprang  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  coming  of  the  sheriff  to  Forks.  The 
faith  of  Arizona  and  the  older  hands  in  the  official 
capacity  for  dealing  with  these  people  was  a  frail  thing, 
but  the  younger  set  were  less  sceptical. 

And  at  last  Julian  Marbolt's  tardy  invitation  to 
Fyles  was  despatched.  Tresler  had  watched  and 
waited  for  the  sending  of  that  letter ;  he  had  hoped  to 
be  the  bearer  of  it  himself.  It  would  have  given  him 
the  opportunity  of  making  this  Fyles's  acquaintance, 
which  was  a  matter  he  desired  to  accomplish  as  soon  as 
possible,  without  drawing  public  attention  to  the  fact. 
But  in  this  he  was  disappointed,  for  Jake  sent  Nelson. 
Nor  did  he  know  of  the  little  man's  going  until  he  saw 
him  astride  of  his  buckskin  ''  shag-an-appy,*'  with  the 
letter  safely  bestow^ed  in  his  wallet. 

This  was  not  the  only  disappointment  he  experienced 
during   that   fortnight.     He   saw  litde   or   nothing  of 


THE  MATTER  OF  DRINK  129 

Diane.  To  Tresler,  at  least,  their  meeting  at  the  ford 
was  something  more  than  a  recollection.  Every  tone 
of  the  girl's  voice,  every  look,  every  word  she  had 
spoken  remained  with  him,  as  these  things  will  at  the 
dawn  of  love.  Many  times  he  tried  to  see  her,  but 
failed.  Then  he  learned  the  meaning  of  their  separa- 
tion. One  day  Joe  brought  him  a  note  from  Diane,  in 
which  she  told  him  how  Black  Anton  had  returned  to 
her  father  and  poured  into  his  only  too  willing  ears  a 
wilfully  garbled  story  of  their  meeting  at  the  ford. 
She  told  him  of  her  father's  anger,  and  how  he  had  for- 
bidden her  to  leave  the  house  unattended  by  at  least 
one  of  his  two  police — Anton  and  Jake.  This  letter 
made  its  recipient  furious,  but  it  also  started  a  secret 
correspondence  between  them,  Joe  Nelson  proving  him- 
self perfectly  willing  to  act  as  go-between.  And  this 
correspondence  was  infinitely  pleasant  to  Tresler.  He 
treasured  Diane's  letters  with  a  jealous  care,  making 
no  attempt  to  disguise  the  truth  from  himself.  He 
knew  that  he  was  falling  hopelessly  in  love — had  fallen 
hopelessly  in  love. 

This  was  the  position  when  the  evening  of  the  day 
came  on  which  the  rancher's  invitation  to  Fyles  had 
been  despatched.  The  supper  hash  had  been  devoured 
by  healthy  men  wdth  healthy  appetites.  Work  was 
practically  over,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  but 
feed,  water,  and  bed  down  the  horses.  And  Joe  Nel- 
son had  not  yet  returned  from  Forks  ;  he  was  at  least 
five  hours  overdue. 

Arizona,  practically  recovered  from  his  wound,  was 
carefully  soaping  his  saddle,  and  generally  preparing 


I30  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

his  accoutrements  for  return  to  full  work  Dn  the  mar 
row.  He  had  grown  particularly  sour  and  irritable 
with  being  kept  so  long  out  of  the  saddle.  His 
volcanic  temper  had  become  even  more  than  usually 
uncertain. 

His  convalescence  threw  him  a  good  deal  into 
Tresler's  company,  and  a  sort  of  uncertain  friendship 
had  sprung  up  between  them.  Arizona  at  first  tolerated 
him,  protested  scathingly  at  his  failures  in  the  craft, 
and  ended  by  liking  him ;  while  the  other  cordially  ap- 
preciated the  open,  boisterous  honesty  of  the  cow- 
puncher.  He  was  equally  ready  to  do  a  kindly  action, 
or  smite  the  man  hip  and  thigh  who  chanced  to  run 
foul  of  him.  Tresler  often  told  him  that  his  nationality 
was  a  mistake,  that  instead  of  being  an  American  he 
should  have  been  born  in  Ireland. 

Just  now  the  prospect  of  once  more  getting  to  work 
had  put  Arizona  in  high  good  temper,  and  he  took  his 
comrades^  rough  chafT  good-naturedly,  giving  as  good 
as  he  got,  and  often  a  little  better. 

Jacob  Smith  had  been  watching  him  for  some  time, 
and  a  thoughtful  grin  had  quietly  taken  possession  of 
his  features. 

"  Soapin'  yer  saddle,"  he  observed  at  last,  as  the  lean 
man  happened  to  look  up  and  see  the  grinning  face  in 
the  doorway  of  the  bunkhouse.  "  Guess  saddles  do 
git  kind  o'  slippery  when  you  ain't  slung  a  leg  over 
one  fer  a  whiles.  Say,  best  soap  the  knees  o'  yer  pants 
too,  Arizona.     Mebbe  y'll  sit  tighter." 

**  Wal,"  retorted  Arizona,  bending  to  his  work  again, 
**  I   do  allow  ther's  more  savee  in  that  tip  than  most 


THE  MATTER  OF  DRINK  131 

gener'ly  slobbers  off*n  your  tongue.  Fli  kind  o'  turn  it 
over  some." 

Jacob's  grin  broadened.  "Guess  I  should.  Your 
plug  ain't  been  saddled  sence  you  wus  sent  sick.  Soft 
soap  ain't  gener'ly  in  your  line  ;  makes  me  laff  to  see 
you  handlin'  it." 

"  That's  so,"  observed  the  other,  imperturbably.  "  I 
'lows  it  has  its  uses.  'Tain't  bad  fer  washin*.  Guess 
you  ain't  tried  it  any  ?  '^ 

At  that  moment  Raw  Harris  came  across  from  the 
barn.  He  lounged  over  to  an  upturned  box  and  sat 
down. 

**  Any  o'  you  fellers  seen  Joe  Nelson  along  yet  ?  "  he 
asked  as  he  leisurely  filled  his  pipe. 

**  Five  hours  overdue,"  said  Tresler,  who  was  clean- 
ing out  the  chambers  of  his  revolver. 

"  Joe  ain't  likely  to  git  back  this  night,"  observed 
Arizona.  **  He's  a  terror  when  he  gits  alongside  a 
saloon.  Guess  \e's  drank  out  one  ranch  of  his  own 
down  Texas  T  ay.  He's  the  all-firedest  bag  o*  tricks 
I've  ever  see.  Soft  as  a  babby  is  Joe.  Honest  ?  Wal, 
I'd  smile.  Joe's  that  honest  he'd  give  up  his  socks  ef 
the  old  sheep  came  along  an'  claimed  the  wool.  Him 
an'  me's  worked  together  'fore.  He's  gittin'  kind  o' 
old,  an'  ain't  as  handy  as  he  used  to  be.  Say,  he  never 
told  you  'bout  that  temperator  feller,  Tresler,  did  he  ?" 

Tresler  shook  his  head,  and  paused  in  his  work  to 
relight  his  pipe. 

**  It  kind  o'  minds  me  to  tell  you  sence  we're  talkin' 
o'  Joe.  It  likely  shows  my  meanin'  when  I  sez  he's 
that  soft  an'  honest,  an'  yet  crazy  fer  drink.     You  see, 


132  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

it  wus  this  a-ways.     I  wus  kind  o'  foreman  o'  the  *  ll 
bar  U's '  in  Canada,  an'  Joe  wus  punchin'  cows  then 

The  boys  wus  sheer  grit ;  good  hands,  mind  you,  bu 
sudden -like.'- 

Arizona  ceased  plastering  the  soap  on  his  saddle  and 
stood  erect.  His  gaunt  figure  looked  leaner  than  ever, 
but  his  face  was  alight  with  interest  in  ths  story  he  was 
about  to  narrate,  and  his  great  Aid  eyes  were  shining 
with  a  look  that  suggested  a  sort  of  fierce  amusement. 
Teddy  jinks  lounged  into  view  and  stood  propped 
against  an  angle  of  the  building. 

"  Git  on,"  said  Lew,  between  the  puffs  at  his  pipe. 

Arizona  shot  a  quick,  disdainful  glance  at  the  power- 
ful figure  of  the  parson's  progeny,  and  went  on  in  his 
own  peculiar  fashion  — 

"  Wal,  it  so  happened  that  the  records  o'  the  '  U  bar 
U's '  kind  o'  got  noised  abroad  some,  as  they  say  in 
the  gospel.  Them  coyotes  as  reckoned  they  wus  smart 
'lowed  as  even  the  cattle  found  a  sho/^age  o'  liquid  by 
reason  of  an  onnatural  thirst  on  that  ran,  h.  Howsum., 
mebbe  ther'  wus  reason.  Old  Joe,  he  wus  the  daddy  o* 
the  lot.  Jim  Marlin  used  to  say  as  Joe  most  gener'ly 
used  a  black  lead  when  he  writ  his  letters ;  didn't  fancy 
wastin'  ink.  Mebbe  that's  kind  o'  zaggerated,  but  I 
guess  he  wus  the  next  thing  to  a  fact'ry  o'  blottin'  paper, 
sure. 

*'  Wal,  I  reckon  some  bald-faced  galoot  got  yappin', 
leastways  there  wus  a  temperance  outfit  com.e  right 
along  an'  lay  hold  o'  the  boss.  Say,  flannel-mouthed 
orators  I  I  guess  that  feller  could  roll  out  more  juicy 
notions  on  the  subject  o'  drink  in  five  minutes  than  a 


THE  MATTER  OF  DRINK  133 

high-pressure  locomotive  could  blow  off  steam  through 
a  five-inch  leak  in  ha'f  a  year.  He  wus  an  eddication 
in  langwige,  sir,  sech  as  'ud  per-suade  a  wall-eyed  mule 
to  do  what  he  didn't  want,  and  wa'n't  goin'  to  do  any- 
ways. 

"I  corralled  the  boys  up  in  the  yard,  an'  the  leller 
got  good  an'  goin'.  He  spotted  Joe  right  off ;  fixed 
him  wi'  his  eye  an'  focussed  him  dead  centre,  an' 
talked  right  at  him.  An'  Joe  wus  iled — that  iled  he 
couldn't  keep  a  straight  trail  ferslippin'.  Say,  speakin' 
metaphoric,  that  feller  got  the  drop  on  pore  Joe.  He 
give  him  a  dose  o'  syllables  in  the  pit  o'  the  stummick 
that  made  him  curl,  then  he  follered  it  right  up  wi'  a 
couple  o'  slugs  o'  his  choicest,  'fore  he  could  straighten 
up.  Then  he  sort  o'  picked  him  up  an'  shook  him 
with  a  power  o'  language,  an'  sot  him  down  like  a 
spanked  kid.  Then  he  clouted  him  over  both  lugs  with 
a  shower  o'  words  wi'  capitals,  clumped  him  over  the 
head  wi'  a  bunch  o'  texts,  an'  thrashed  him  wi'  a  fact'ry 
o'  trac'  papers.  Say,  I  guess  pore  Joe  wouldn't  *a' 
rec'nized  the  flavor  o'  whisky  from  blue  pizen  when 
that  feller  had  done  ;  an'  we  jest  looked  on,  feelin' 
■bout  as  happy  as  a  lot  o'  old  hens  worritin'  to  hatch 
out  a  batch  o'  Easter  eggs.  Say,  pore  Joe  wus  weepin' 
over  his  sins,  an'  I  guess  we  wus  all  'most  ready  to  cry. 
Then  the  feller  up  an'  sez,  *  Fetch  out  the  pernicious 
sperrit,  the  nectar  o'  the  devil,  the  waters  o'  the  Styx, 
the  vile  filth  as  robs  homes  o'  their  support,  an'  drives 
whole  races  to  perdition  ! '  an'  a  lot  o'  other  big  talk. 
An',  say,  we  fetched  !  Yes,  sir,  we  fetched  like  a  lot  o' 
silly,  skippin'   lambs.     We  brought  out  six  bottles  o 


134  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

the  worstest  rotgut  ever  faked  in  a  settlement  saloon, 
an'  handed  it  over.  After  that  I  guess  we  wus  feelin' 
better.  Sez  we,  feelin'  kind  o'  mumsy  over  the  whole 
racket,  it  ain't  right,  we  sez,  to  harbor  no  sperrit-soaked, 
Jiver-pickled  tag  of  a  decent  citizen's  life  around  this 
layout:  an'  so  w^e  took  Joe  Nelson  to  the  river  and 
diluted  him.  After  that  I  'low^s  we  lay  low.  I  did  hear 
as  some  o'  the  boys  said  their  prayers  that  night,  which 
goes  to  show  as  they  wus  feelin'  kind  o'  thin  an'  mean. 
Ther*  wa'n't  a  feller  ther'  but  wus  dead  swore  off  fer  a 
week. 

'*  Guess  it  wus  most  the  middle  o'  the  night  when 
Jim  Yard  comes  to  my  shack  an'  fetched  me  out.  He 
told  me  there  wus  a  racket  goin'  on  in  the  settlement. 
That  temperator  w^us  down  ther'  blazin'  drunk  an' 
shootin'  up  the  town.  Say,  I  felt  kind  o'  hot  at  that. 
Yup,  pretty  sulphury  an'  hot,  an'  I  went  right  out,  quiet 
like,  and  fetched  the  boys.  Them  as  had  said  their 
prayers  wus  the  first  to  join  me.  Wal,  we  went  along 
an'  did  things  with  that. — Ah,  guess  Jake's  comin'  this 
way  ;  Hkely  he  wants  somethin'." 

Arizona  turned  abruptly  to  his  saddle  again,  while 
all  eyes  looked  over  at  the  approaching  foreman.  Jake 
strode  up.  Arizona  took  no  notice  of  him.  It  w^as  his 
way  of  showing  his  dislike  for  the  man.  Jake  permitted 
one  glance — nor  was  it  a  friendly  one — in  his  direction, 
then  he  went  straight  over  to  w^here  Tresler  was 
sitting. 

'•  Get  that  mare  of  yours  saddled,  Tresler,"  he  said, 
**  and  ride  into  Forks.  You'll  fetch  out  that  skulkin' 
coyote,   Joe    Nelson.     You'll   fetch    him   out,    savee  ? 


THE  MATTER  OF  DRINK  135 

Maybe  he's  at  the  saloon — sure  he's  drunk,  anyway. 
An'  if  he  ain't  handed  over  that  letter  to  the  sheriff, 
you'll  see  to  it.  Say,  you'd  best  shake  him  up  some  ; 
don't  be  too  easy." 

''  I'll  bring  him  out,"  replied  Tresler,  quietly. 

*'  Hah,  kind  o'  squeamish,"  sneered  Jake. 

"  No.  I'm  not  knocking  drunken  men  about.  That's 
all." 

''Wal,  go  and  bring  him  out,"  snarled  the  giant 
**  I'll  see  to  the  rest." 

Tresler  went  off  to  the  barn  without  another  word. 
His  going  was  almost  precipitate,  but  not  from  any  fear 
of  Jake.  It  was  himself  he  feared.  This  merciless 
brute  drove  him  to  distraction  every  time  he  came  into 
contact  with  him,  and  the  only  way  he  found  it  possible 
to  keep  the  peace  with  him  at  all  was  by  avoiding  him, 
by  getting  out  of  his  way,  by  shutting  him  out  of  mind, 
whenever  it  was  possible. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  had  set  out.  His  uneasy  mare 
was  still  only  half  tamed,  and  very  fresh.  She  left  the 
yards  peaceably  enough,  but  jibbed  at  the  river  ford. 
The  inevitable  thrashing  followed,  Tresler  knowing 
far  too  much  by  now  to  spare  her.  Just  for  one  moment 
she  seemed  inclined  to  submit  and  behave  herself,  and 
take  to  the  water  kindly.  Then  her  native  cussed- 
ness  asserted  itself;  she  shook  her  head  angrily,  and 
caught  the  bar  of  the  spade-bit  in  her  great,  strong 
teeth,  swung  round,  and,  stretching  her  long  ewe  neck, 
headed  south  across  country  as  hard  as  she  could 
lay  heels  to  the  ground. 

Tresler  fought  her  ever}^  foot  of  the  way,  but  it  was 


136  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

useless.  The  devil  possessed  her,  and  she  worked  her 
will  on  him.  By  the  time  he  should  have  reached 
Forks  he  was  ten  miles  in  the  opposite  direction. 

However,  he  was  not  the  man  to  take  such  a  display 
too  kindly,  and,  having  at  length  regained  control,  he 
turned  her  back  and  pressed  her  to  make  up  time. 
And  it  made  him  smile,  as  he  rode,  to  feel  the  swing  of 
the  creature's  powerful  strides  under  him.  He  could 
not  punish  her  by  asking  for  pace,  and  he  knew  it. 
She  seemed  to  revel  in  a  rapid  journey,  and  the  extra 
run  taken  on  her  own  account  only  seemed  to  have 
warmed  her  up  to  even  greater  efforts. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  he  drew  near  Forks  ; 
and  the  moon  had  only  just  risen.  The  mare  w^as 
docile  enough  now,  and  raced  along  with  her  ears 
pricked  and  her  whole  fiery  disposition  alert. 

The  trail  approached  Forks  from  the  w^est.  That  is 
to  say,  it  took  a  big  bend  and  entered  on  the  western 
side.  Already  Tresler  could  see  the  houses  beyond  the 
trees  silhouetted  in  the  moonlight,  but  the  nearer  ap- 
proach was  bathed  in  shadow.  The  trail  came  down 
from  a  rising  ground,  cutting  its  way  through  the  bush, 
and,  passing  the  lights  of  the  saloon,  went  on  to  the 
market-place. 

He  checked  the  mare's  impetuosity  as  he  came  down 
the  slope.  She  was  too  valuable  for  him  to  risk  her  legs. 
With  all  her  vices,  he  knew  there  was  not  a  horse  on 
the  ranch  that  could  stand  beside  the  Lady  Jezebel  on 
the  trail. 

She  propped  jerkily  as  she  descended  the  hill.  Every 
little  rustle  of  the  lank  grass  startled  her,  and  gave  her 


THE  MATTER  OF  DRINK  137 

excuse  for  frivolity.  Her  rider  was  forced  to  keep  a 
watchful  eye  and  a  close  seat.  A  shadowy  kit  fox 
worried  her  with  its  stealthy  movements.  It  kept  pace 
with  her  in  its  silent,  ghostly  way,  now  invisible  in  the 
long  grass,  now  in  full  view  beside  the  trail ;  but  always 
abreast. 

Half-way  down  the  trail  both  horse  and  rider  were 
startled  seriously.  A  riderless  horse,  saddled  and 
bridled,  dashed  out  of  the  darkness  and  galloped  across 
them.  Of  her  own  accord  Lady  Jezebel  swung  round, 
and,  before  Tresler  could  check  her,  had  set  off  in  hot 
pursuit.  For  once  horse  and  rider  were  of  the  same 
mind,  and  Tresler  bent  low  in  the  saddle,  ready  to  grab 
at  the  bridle  when  his  mare  should  overhaul  the 
stranger. 

In  less  than  a  minute  they  were  abreast  of  their 
quarry.  The  stranger's  reins  were  hanging  broken 
from  the  bit,  and  Tresler  grabbed  at  them.  Nor  could 
he  help  a  quiet  laugh,  when,  on  pulling  up,  he  recog- 
nized the  buckskin  pony  and  quaint  old  stock  saddle  of 
Joe  Nelson.  And  he  at  once  became  alive  to  the  neces- 
sity of  his  journey.  What,  he  wondered,  had  happened 
10  the  little  choreman  ? 

Leading  the  captive,  he  rode  back  to  the  trail  and 
pushed  on  toward  the  village.  But  his  adventures 
were  not  over  yet.  At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  the  mare, 
brought  up  to  a  stand,  reared  and  shied  violently.  Then 
she  stood  trembling  like  an  aspen,  seizing  every  oppor- 
tunity to  edge  from  the  trail,  and  all  the  while  staring 
with  wild,  dilated  eyes  away  out  toward  the  bush  on  the 
right  front.     Her  rider  followed  the  direction  of  her 


138  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

gaze  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  trouble.  For  some 
minutes  he  could  distinguish  nothing  unusual  in  the 
darkness.  The  moon  had  not  as  yet  attained  much 
power,  and  gave  him  very  little  assistance  ;  but,  realiz- 
ing the  wonderful  acuteness  of  a  horse's  vision,  he 
decided  that  there  nevertheless  was  something  to  be 
investigated.  So  he  dismounted,  and  adopting  the 
common  prairie  method  of  scanning  the  sky-line,  he 
dropped  to  the  ground. 

For  some  time  his  search  was  quite  vain,  and  only 
the  mare's  nervous  state  encouraged  him.  Then  at 
length,  low  down  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  bush, 
something  caught  and  held  his  attention.  Something 
was  moving  down  there. 

He  lay  quite  still,  watching  intently.  Something  of 
the  mare's  nervous  excitement  gripped  him.  The 
movement  was  ghostly.  It  was  only  a  movement. 
There  was  nothing  distinct  to  be  seen,  nothing  tangible  ; 
just  a  weird,  nameless  something.  A  dozen  times  he 
asked  himself  what  it  was.  But  the  darkness  always 
baffled  him,  and  he  could  find  no  answer.  He  had  an 
impression  of  great  flapping  wings — such  wings  as 
might  belong  to  a  giant  bat.  The  movement  was 
sufificiently  regular  to  suggest  this,  but  the  idea  car- 
ried no  conviction.  There,  however,  his  conjectures 
ended. 

At  last  he  sprang  up  with  a  sharp  ejaculation,  and 
his  hand  went  to  his  revolver.  The  thing,  or  creature, 
whatever  it  was,  was  coming  slowly  but  steadily 
toward  him.  Had  he  not  been  sure  of  this,  the  attitude 
of  the  horses  would  have  settled  the  question  for  him. 


THE  MATTER  OF  DRINK  139 

Lady  Jezebel  pulled  back  in  the  throes  of  a  wild  fear, 
and  the  buckskin  plunged  madly  to  get  free. 

He  had  hardly  persuaded  them  to  a  temporary  calm- 
ness, when  a  mournful  cry,  rising  in  a  wailing  cres- 
cendo, split  the  air  and  died  away  abruptly.  And  he 
knew  that  it  came  from  the  advancing  **  movement." 

And  now  it  left  the  shadow  and  drew  out  into  the 
moonlight.  And  the  man  watching  beheld  a  dark 
heap  distinctly  outlined  midway  toward  the  bush. 
The  wings  seemed  to  have  folded  themselves,  or,  at 
least,  to  have  lowered,  and  were  trailing  on  the  ground 
in  the  creature's  wake.  Presently  the  whole  thing 
ceased  to  move,  and  sat  still  Uke  a  great  loathsome 
toad — a  silent,  uncanny  heap  amidst  the  lank  prairie 
grass.  And  somehow  he  felt  glad  that  it  was  no  longer 
approaching. 

The  moments  crept  by,  and  the  position  remained 
unchanged.  Then  slowly,  with  an  air  of  settled  pur- 
pose, the  creature  raised  itself  on  its  hind  legs,  and, 
swaying  and  shuffling,  continued  its  advance.  In  an 
instant  Tresler's  revolver  leapt  from  its  holster,  and  he 
w^as  ready  to  defend  himself.  The  attitude  was  famil- 
iar to  him.  He  had  read  stories  of  the  bears  in  the 
Rockies,  and  they  came  home  to  him  now  as  he  saw 
his  adversary  rear  itself  to  its  full  height.  His  puzzle- 
ment was  over  ;  he  understood  now.  He  was  dealing 
with  a  large  specimen  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  grizzly. 

Yes,  there  could  be  no  mistaking  the  swaying  gait, 
the  curious,  snorting  breathing,  the  sadly  lolling  head 
and  slow  movements.  He  remembered  each  detail 
with    an   exactness    which    astonished   him,  and  was 


I40  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

thrilled  with  the  bristling  sensation  which  assails  every 
hunter  when  face  to  face  with  big  game  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life. 

He  raised  his  gun,  and  took  a  long,  steady  aim, 
measuring  the  distance  with  deliberation,  and  selecting 
the  animal's  breast  for  his  shot.  Then,  just  as  he  was 
about  to  fire,  the  brute's  head  turned  and  caught  the 
cold,  sharp  moonlight  full  upon  its  face.  There  was  a 
momentary  flash  of  white,  and  Tresler's  gun  was  low- 
ered as  though  it  had  been  struck  down. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JOE   NELSON   INDULGES   IN   A  LITTLE  MATCH  MAKING 

The  moonlight  had  revealed  the  grotesque  features 
of  Joe  Nelson  ! 

Tresler  returned  his  gun  to  its  holster  precipitately, 
and  his  action  had  in  it  all  the  chagrin  of  a  man  who 
has  been  ''  had  "  by  a  practical  joker.  His  discom- 
fiture,  however,  quickly  gave  way  before  the  humor  of 
the  situation,  and  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

He  laughed  while  he  watched  his  bear  drop  again 
to  his  hands  and  knees,  and  continue  to  craw^l  toward 
him,  till  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  On  came 
the  little  fellow,  enveloped  in  the  full  embracing  folds 
of  a  large  brown  blanket,  and  his  silent  dogged  prog- 
ress w^arned  Tresler  that,  as  yet,  his  own  presence  was 
either  unrealized  or  ignored  in  the  earnestness  of  his 
unswerving  purpose.  And  the  nature  of  that  purpose 
— for  Tresler  had  fully  realized  it^ — was  the  most  laugh- 
able thing  of  all.  Joe  w^as  stalking  his  buckskin  pony 
with  the  senseless  cunning  of  a  drunken  man. 

At  last  the  absurdity  of  the  position  became  too  much, 
and  he  hailed  the  little  choreman  in  the  midst  of  his 
laughter. 

"  Ho  !  You,  Joe  !  "  he  called.  "  What  the  blazes 
d'you  think  you're  doing  ?  " 

There  w^as  no  reply.     For  all  heed  the  man  undet 


142  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

the  blanket  gave,  he  might  have  been  deaf,  dumb  and 
bHnd.     He  just  came  steadily  on. 

Tresler  shouted  again,  and  more  sliarply.  This  time 
his  summons  had  its  effect.  It  brought  an  answer — an 
answer  that  set  him  off  into  a  fresh  burst  of  laughter. 

"  Gorl  darn  it,  boys,"  came  a  peevish  voice,  from 
amidst  the  blanket,  ''  'tain't  smart,  neither,  playin' 
around  when  a  feller's  kind  o'  roundin'  up  his  plug. 
How'm  I  goin'  to  cut  that  all-fired  buckskin  out  o'  the 
bunch  wi'  you  gawkin'  around  like  a  reg'ment  o'  ho- 
boes ?  Ef  you  don't  reckon  to  fool  any,  why,  some  o' 
you  git  around  an'  head  him  off  from  the  rest  of 
*em,  I'd  do  it  myself  on'y  my  cussed  legs  has  given 
out." 

*'  Boys,  eh  ? "  Tresler  was  still  laughing,  but  he 
checked  his  mirth  sufficiently  to  answer,  "Why,  man, 
it's  the  whisky  that's  fooling  you.  There  are  no  '  boys,* 
and  no  *  bunch  '  of  horses  here.  Just  your  horse  and 
mine  ;  and  I've  got  them  both  safe  enough.  You're 
drunk,  Joe — beasdy  drunk." 

Joe  suddenly  struggled  to  his  feet  and  stood  swaying 
uncertainly,  but  trying  hard  to  steady  himself.  He 
focussed  his  eyes  with  much  effort  upon  the  tall  figure 
l}etore  him,  and  then  suddenly  moved  forward  like  a 
man  crossing  a  brook  on  a  single,  narrow,  and  danger- 
ously swaying  plank.  He  all  but  pitched  headlong  into 
the  waiting  man  as  he  reached  him,  and  would  un- 
doubtedly have  fallen  to  the  ground  but  for  the  aid  of 
a  friendly  hand  thrust  out  to  catch  him.  And  while 
Tresler  turned  to  pacify  the  two  thoroughly  frightened 
horses,  the  little  man's  angry  tones  snapped  out  at  him 


JOE  INDULGES  IN  MATCH-MAKING        143 

in  what  was  intended  for  a  dignified  protest.  In  spite 
of  his  drunken  condition,  his  words  were  distinct 
enough^  though  his  voice  was  thick.  After  all,  as  he 
said,  it  was  his  legs  that  had  given  way. 

"  Guess  you're  that  blazin'  '  tenderfoot '  Tresler,"  he 
said,  with  all  the  sarcasm  he  was  capable  of  at  the  mo- 
ment. "  Wal,  say,  Mr.  a'mighty  Tresler,  ef  it  wa'n't 
as  you  wus  a  '  tenderfoot,'  I'd  shoot  you  fer  sayin'  I 
wus  drunk.  Savee  ?  You  bein'  a  '  tenderfoot,'  I'll  jest 
mention  you're  side-tracked,  you're  most  on  the  scrap 
heap,  you've  left  the  sheer  trail  an'  you're  ditched. 
You've  hit  a  gait  you  can't  travel,  an'  don't  amount  to 
a  decent,  full-sized  jackass.  Savee  ?  I  ain't  drunk. 
It's  drink ;  see  ?  Carney's  rotgut.  I  tell  you  right 
here  I'm  sober,  but  my  legs  ain't.  Mebbe  you're  that 
fool-headed  you  don't  savee  the  difference." 

Tresler  restrained  a  further  inclination  to  laugh.  He 
had  wasted  too  much  time  already,  and  was  anxious  to 
get  back  to  the  ranch.  He  quite  realized  that  Joe  knew 
what  he  was  about,  if  his  legs  were  hors-de- combat^  for, 
after  delivering  himself  of  this,  his  unvarnished  opinion, 
he  wisely  sought  the  safer  vantage-ground  of  a  sitting 
posture. 

Tresler  grabbed  at  the  blanket  and  pulled  it  off  his 
shoulders. 

**  What's  this  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

Joe  looked  up,  his  little  eyes  sparkling  with  resent- 
ment. 

**  'Tain't  yours,  anyw^ay,"  he  said.  Then  he  added 
with  less  anger,  and  some  uncertainty,  "  Guess  I  slept 
some    down   at  the  bushes.     Durned  plug  got  busy 


144  l^^i^  NIGHT-RiDKRS 

'stead  o'  waitin'  around.  The  fool  hoss  ain't  got  no 
manners  anyways." 

''Manners?  Don't  blither."  Tresler  seized  him  by 
the  coat  collar  and  yanked  him  suddenly  upon  his  feet. 
*'  Now,  hand  over  that  letter  to  Sheriff  Fyles.  I've 
orders  to  deliver  it  myself." 

Joe's  twisted  face  turned  upward  with  a  comical  ex- 
pression of  perplexity.  The  moonlight  caught  his  eyes, 
and  he  blinked.  Then  he  looked  over  at  the  horses, 
and,  shaking  his  head  solemnly,  began  lo  fumble  at 
his  pockets. 

'*S-SherifT  F-Fyles,"  he  answered  doubtfully.  He 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  very  name.  **  F-Fyles  ?  " 
he  repeated  again.  "  Letter  ?  Say,  now,  I  wus  kind 
o'  wonderin'  what  I  cum  to  Forks  fer.  Y'  see  I  mostly 
git  around  Forks  fer  Carney's  rotgut.  Course,  ther' 
wus  a  letter.  Jest  wher'  did  I  put  that  now?"  He 
became  quite  cheerful  as  he  probed  his  pockets. 

Tresler  waited  until,  swaying  and  even  stumbling  in 
the  process,  he  had  turned  out  two  pockets ;  then  his 
impatience  getting  the  better  of  him,  he  proceeded  to 
conduct  the  search  himself. 

"  Now  see  here,"  he  said  firmly,  ''  I'll  go  through 
your  pockets.  If  you've  lost  it,  there'll  be  trouble  for 
you  when  you  get  back.  If  you'd  only  kept  clear  of 
that  saloon  you  would  have  been  all  right." 

•'  That's  so,"  said  Joe  humbly,  as  he  submitted  to  the 
other's  search. 

Tresler  proceeded  systematically.  There  was  noth- 
ing but  tobacco  and  pipe  in  the  outside  pockets  of  his 
coat.     His   trousers  revealed  a  ten-cent  piece  and  a 


JOE  INDULGES  IN  MATCH-MAKING        145 

dollar  bill,  which  the  choreman  thanked  him  profusely 
for  finding,  assuring  him,  regretfully,  that  he  wouldn't 
have  left  the  saloon  if  he  had  known  he  had  it.  The 
inside  pocket  of  the  coat  was  drawn  blank  of  all  but  a 
piece  of  newspaper,  and  Tresler  pronounced  his  verdict 
in  no  measured  terms. 

"  You  drunken  little  fool,  you've  lost  it,"  he  said,  as 
he  held  out  the  unfolded  newspaper. 

joe  seemed  past  resentment  with  his  fresh  trouble. 
He  squinted  hard  to  get  the  newspaper  into  proper  focus. 

''  Say,"  he  observed  meekly,  ''  I  guess  it  wus  in  that, 
sure.  Sure,  yes,"  he  nodded  emphatically,  '•  I  planted 
it  that  a- ways  to  kep  it  from  the  dirt.  I  'member 
readin'  the  headin'  o'  that  paper.  Et  wus  'bout  some 
high-soundin'  female  in  New  Yo " 

*'  Confound  it !  "  Tresler  was  more  distressed  for  the 
little  man  than  angry  with  him.  He  knew  Jake  would 
be  furious,  and  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  excuses  that 
might  save  him.  The  only  one  he  could  think  of  was 
feeble  enough,  but  he  suggested  it. 

**  Well,  there's  only  one  thing  to  do  ;  we  must  ride 
back,  and  you  can  say  you  lost  the  letter  on  the  way 
oufc,  and  have  spent  the  day  looking  for  it." 

Joe  seemed  utterly  dejected.  "  Sure,  yeSc  There^s 
on'y  one  thing  to  do,"  he  murmured  disconsolately. 
"  We  must  ride  back.  Say,  you're  sure,  plumb  sure  it 
ain't  in  one  of  my  pockets  ?  Dead  sure  I  must  'a'  lost 
it?" 

"No  doubt  of  it.  Damn  it,  Joe,  I'm  sorry.  You'll 
be  in  a  deuce  of  a  scrape  with  Jake.  It's  all  that  cursed 
drink." 


146  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"That's  so,"  murmured  the  culprit  mournfully.  His 
face  was  turned  away.  Now  it  suddenly  brightened  as 
though  a  fresh  and  more  hopeful  view  of  the  matter  had 
presented  itself,  and  his  twisted  features  slowly  wTeathed 
themselves  into  a  smile.  His  deep-set  eyes  twinkled 
with  an  odd  sort  of  mischievous  humor  as  he  raised 
them  abruptly  to  the  troubled  face  of  his  companion. 

"Guess  I   kind   o'   forgot  to  tell  you.     I   gave  the 
sheriff?  that  letter  this  mornin'  'fore  I  called  on  Carney 
Mebbe,  ef  I'd  told  you  'fore  I'd  'a'  saved  you " 

'^You  little " 

Tresler  could  find  no  words  to  express  his  exaspera- 
tion. He  made  a  grab  at  the  now  grinning  mean's  coat 
collar,  seized  him,  and,  lifting  him  bodily,  literally  threw 
him  on  to  the  back  of  his  buckskin  pony. 

"  You  little  old  devil ! "  he  at  last  burst  out ;  **  you 
stay  there,  and  back  you  go  to  the  ranch.  I'll  shake 
the  liquor  out  of  you  before  we  get  home." 

Tresler  sprang  into  his  saddle,  and,  turning  his 
mare's  head  homeward,  led  the  buckskin  and  its 
drunken  freight  at  a  rattling  pace.  And  Joe  kept  si- 
lence for  a  while.  He  felt  it  was  best  so.  But,  in  the 
end,  he  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  when  he  did  so  there 
was  a  quiet  dryness  in  his  tone  that  pointed  all  he  said. 

''  Say,  Tresler,  I'm  kind  o'  sorry  you  wus  put  to  all 
that  figgerin'  an'  argyment,"  he  said,  shaking  up  his 
old  pony  to  bring  him  alongside  the  speedy  mare. 
**Y'  see  ye  never  ast  me  'bout  that  letter.  Kind  o' 
jumped  me  fer  a  fool-head  at  oncet.  Which  is  m.ost 
generly  the  nature  o'  boys  o'  your  years.  Conclusions 
is  mosdy  hasty,  but  I  'lows  they're  reas'nable  in  their 


JOE  INDULGES  IN  MATCH-MAKING        147 

places — which  is  last.  An'  I  sez  it  wi'out  offense,  ther 
ain't  a  blazin'  thing  born  in  this  world  that  don't  reckon 
to  con-elude  far  itself  'fore  it's  righdy  begun.  Every- 
thing needs  teachin',  from  a  'tenderfoot'  to  a  New- 
York  babby." 

Joe's  homily  banished  the  last  shadow  of  Tresler's 
ill-humor.  The  little  man  had  had  the  best  of  him  in 
his  quiet,  half-drunken  manner ;  a  manner  which,  though 
rough,  was  still  irresistible. 

''That's  all  right,  Joe.  I'm  no  match  for  you,"  he 
said  with  a  laugh.  "  But,  setting  jokes  on  one  side,  I 
think  you're  in  for  trouble  with  Jake.  I  saw  it  in  his 
eye  before  I  started  out." 

"  I  don't  think.  Guess  I'm  plumb  sure,"  Joe  replied 
quietly. 

"Then  why  on  earth  did  you  do  it?" 

Joe  humped  his  back  with  a  movement  expressive  d 
unconcern. 

*'  It  don't  matter  why.  Jake's  nigh  killed  me  ha'f  a 
dozen  times.  One  o'  these  days  he'll  fix  me  sure.  He'll 
lace  hell  out  o'  me  to-morrow,  I'm  guessin',  an'  when 
it's  done  it  won't  alter  nothin'  anyways.  I've  jest 
two  things  in  this  world,  I  notion,  an' — one  of  'em's 
drink.  'Tain't  no  use  in  sayin'  it  ain't,  'cos  I  guess  my 
legs  is  most  unnateral  truthful  'bout  drink.  Say,  I  don't 
worrit  no  folk  when  I'm  drunk  ;  guess  I  don't  interfere 
wi'  no  one's  consarns  when  I'm  drunk ;  I'm  jest  kind 
o'  happy  when  I'm  drunk.  Which  bein'  so,  makes  it 
no  one's  bizness  but  my  own.  I  do  it  'cos  I  gits  a 
heap  o'  pleasure  out  o'  it.  I  know  I  ain't  worth  hell 
room.     But  I  got  my  notions,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  ter  budge 


148  THE  NIGH  r-RIDERS 

fer  no  one.''  Joe's  slantwise  mouth  was  set  obstinately ; 
his  little  eyes  flashed  angrily  in  the  moonlight,  and  his 
whole  attitude  was  one  of  a  man  combating  an  argu- 
ment which  his  soul  is  set  against. 

As  Tresler  had  no  idea  of  arguing  the  question  and 
remained  silent,  the  choreman  went  on  in  a  m.odified 
tone  of  morbid  self-sympathy  — 

"  When  the  time  comes  around  I'll  hand  over  my 
checks  wi'out  no  fuss  nor  botheration  ;  guess  I'll  cash 
in  wi'  as  much  grit  as  George  Washington.  I  don't 
calc'late  as  life  is  wuth  worritin'  over  anyways.  W^e 
don't  ast  to  be  born,  an',  comin'  into  the  world  wi'out  no 
by-your-leave,  I  don't  figger  as  folks  has  a  right  to  say 
we've  got  to  take  a  hand  in  any  bluf?  we  don't  notion." 

"  Perhaps  you've  a  certain  amount  of  right  on  your 
side."  Tresler  felt  that  this  hopeless  pessimism  was 
rather  the  result  of  drink  than  natural  to  him.  '*  But 
you  said  you  had  two  things  that  you  considered  worth 
living  for  ?  " 

"  That's  so.  I  ain't  goin'  back  on  what  I  said.  It's 
jest  that  other  what  set  me  yarnin'.  Say,  guess  you're 
mostly  a  pretty  decent  feller,  Tresler,  though  I  'lows 
you  has  failin's.  You're  kind  o'  young.  Now  I  guess 
you  ain't  never  pumped  lead  into  the  other  feller,  which 
the  same  he's  doin'  satisfact'ry  by  you  ?  You  kind  o' 
Mke  most  fellers  ?  " 

Tresler  nodded. 

"Jest  so.  But  I've  noticed  you  don't  fancy  folks  as 
gits  gay  wi'  you.  You  kind  o'  make  things  uneasy. 
Wal,  that's  a  fault  you'll  git  over.  Mebbe,  later  on, 
when  a  feller  gits  rilin'  you  you'll  work  your  gun,  in- 


JOE  INDULGES  IN  MATCH-MAKING        149 

stead  of  trying  to  thump  savee  into  his  head.  Heads 
is  mighty  cur'us  out  west  here.  They're  so  chock  full 
o'  savee,  ther'  ain't  no  use  in  thumpin'  more  into  'em. 
Et's  a  heap  easier  to  let  it  out.  But  that's  on  the  side. 
I  most  gener'ly  see  things,  an'  kind  o'  notice  fellers,  an' 
that's  how  I  sized  you  up.  Y'  see  I've  done  a  heap  o' 
settin'  around  M'skeeter  Bend  fer  nigh  on  ten  years, 
mostly  watchin'.  Now,  mebbe,  y'  ain't  never  sot  no 
plant,  an'  bedded  it  gentle  wi'  sifted  mould,  an'  watered 
it  careful,  an'  sot  right  ther*  on  a  box,  an'  watched  it 
grow  in  a  spot  wher'  ther'  wa'n't  no  bizness  fer  any- 
thin'  but  weeds  ?  " 

Tresler  shook  his  head,  wonderingly. 

''  No  ;  guess  not,"  Joe  went  on.  "  Say,"  he  added, 
turning  and  looking  earnestly  into  his  companion's 
face,  "  I'm  settin'  on  that  box  right  now.  Yes,  sir,  I've 
watched  that  plant  grow.  I've  picked  the  stones  out 
so  the  young  shoots  could  git  through  nice  an'  easy- 
like.  I've  watered  it.  I've  washened  the  leaves  when 
the  blights  come  along.  I've  sticked  it  against  the 
winds.  I've  done  most  everythin'  I  could,  usin'  soap- 
suds and  soot  waters,  an'  all  then:  tasty  liquids  to  coax 
it  on.  I've  sot  ther'  a-smilin'  to  see  the  lovesome  buds 
come  along  an'  open  out,  an'  make  the  air  sweet  wi' 
perfumes  an'  color  an'  things.  I've  sot  right  ther'  an' 
tho't  an'  tho't  a  heap  o'  tho'ts  around  that  flow^er,  an' 
felt  all  crinkly  up  the  back  wi'  pleasure.  An'  I  ain't 
never  wanted  ter  leave  that  box.  No,  sir,  an'  the  days 
wus  bright,  an'  nothin'  seemed  amiss  wn'  life  nor  nothin'. 
But  I  tell  you  it  ain't  no  good.  No,  sir,  'tain't  no  good, 
'cos  I  ain't  got  the  guts  to  git  up  an'  dig  hard.     I've 


ISO  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

i-eached  out  an'  pulled  a  weed  or  two,  but  them  weeds 
had  got  a  holt  on  that  bed  'fore  I  sot  the  seedlin',  an' 
theyVe  growed  till  my  pore  flower  is  nigh  to  be  choked. 
'Tain't  no  use  watchin'  when  weeds  is  growin'.  It 
wants  a  feller  as  can  dig ;  an'  I  guess  I  ain't  that  feller. 
Say,  ther's  mighty  hard  diggin'  to  be  done  right  now, 
an'  the  feller  as  does  it  has  got  to  do  it  standin'  right 
up  to  the  job.  Savee  ?  Fm  sayin'  right  now  to  you, 
Tresler,  them  weeds  is  chokin'  the  life  out  o'  her.  She's 
mazed  up  w^i'  'em.  Ther'  ain't  no  escape.  None.  Her 
life's  bound  to  be  hell  anyw^ays." 

*'  Her  ?  Whom  ?  "  Tresler  asked  the  question,  but 
he  knew  that  Joe  was  referring  to  Diane ;  Diane's 
welfare  was  his  other  interest  in  life. 

The  little  man  turned  with  a  start.  "Eh?  Miss 
Dianny — o'  course." 

**  And  the  weeds?" 

"  Jake— an'  her  father." 

And  the  two  men  became  silent,  while  their  horses 
ambled  leisurely  on  toward  home.  It  was  Tresler  who 
broke  the  silence  at  last. 

**  And  this  is  the  reason  you've  stayed  so  long  on  the 
ranch?"  he  asked. 

**  Mebbe.  I  don't  reckon  as  I  could  'a'  done  much," 
Joe  answered  hopelessly.  ''What  could  a  drunken 
choreman  do  anyways  ?  Leastways  the  pore  kid  hadn't 
got  no  mother,  an'  I  guess  ther'  wa'n't  a  blazin'  soul 
around  as  she  could  ^/arn  her  troubles  to.  When  she 
got  fixed,  I  guess  ther'  wa'n't  no  one  to  put  her  right. 
And  when  things  was  hatchin',  ther'  wa'n't  no  one  to 
give  her  warnin'  but  me.     *  What  is  the  trouble  ? '  you 


JOE  INDULGES  IN   MATCH-MAKING        151 

ast,"  the  little  man  went  on  gloomily.  ** Trouble? 
Wai,  I'd  smile.  Ther'  ain't  nothin'  but  trouble  around 
M'skeeter  Bend,  sure.  Trouble  for  her — trouble  all 
round.  Her  trouble's  her  father,  an'  Jake.  Jake's  set 
on  marryin'  her.  Jake,"  in  a  tone  of  withering  scorn, 
"  who's  only  fit  to  mate  wi'  a  bitch  wolf.  An'  her  fa- 
ther— say,  he  hates  her.  Hates  her  like  a  neche  hates 
a  rattler.  An'  fer  why  ?  Gawd  only  knows  ;  I  ain't 
never  found  out.  Say,  that  gal  is  his  slave,  sure.  Ef 
she  raises  her  voice,  she  gits  it.  Not,  I  guess,  as  Jake 
handles  me,  but  wi'  the  sneakin*  way  of  a  devil.  Say, 
the  things  he  does  makes  me  most  ready  to  cry  like  a 
kid.  An'  all  the  time  he  threatens  her  wi'  Jake  fer  a 
husband.  An'  she  don't  never  complain.  Not  she; 
no  sir.  You  don't  know  the  blind  hulks,  Tresler ;  but 
ther',  it  ain't  no  use  in  gassin'  He  don't  never  mean 
her  fer  Jake,  an'  I  guess  she  knows  it.  But  she's  plumb 
scared,  anyways." 

Tresler  contemplated  the  speaker  earnestly  in  the 
moonlight.  He  marveled  at  the  quaint  outward  form 
of  the  chivalrous  spirit  within.  He  was  trying  to  rec- 
oncile the  antagonistic  natures  of  which  this  strange 
litde  bundle  of  humanity  was  made  up.  For  ten  years 
Joe  had  put  up  with  the  bullying  and  physical  brutality 
of  Jake  Harnach,  so  that,  in  however  small  a  way,  he 
might  help  to  make  easy  the  rough  life-path  of  a  lonely 
girl.  And  his  motives  were  all  unselfish.  A  latent 
chivalry  held  him  which  no  depths  of  drunkenness 
could  drown.     He  leant  over  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Joe,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  shake  hands  with  you 
9Jai  call  you  my  friend." 


152  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

The  choreman  held  back  for  a  moment  in  some  con- 
fusion. Then,  as  liiough  moved  by  sudden  impulse, 
he  gripped  the  hand  so  cordially  offered. 

"  But  I  ain't  done  yet,"  he  said  a  moment  later.  He 
had  no  wish  to  advertise  his  own  good  deeds.  He  was 
pleading  for  another.  Some  one  who  could  not  plead 
for  herself.  His  tone  had  assumed  a  roughness  hardly 
in  keeping  with  the  gentle,  reflective  manner  in  which 
he  had  talked  of  his  **  flower."  '*  Tresler,"  he  went  on, 
"y're  good  stuff,  but  y'  ain't  good  'nough  to  dust  that 
gal's  boots,  no — not  by  a  sight.  Meanin'  no  offense. 
But  she  needs  the  help  o'  some  one  as'll  dig  at  them 
weeds  standin'.  See  ?  Which  means  you.  I  can't 
tell  you  all  I  know,  I  can't  tell  you  all  I've  seed.  One 
o'  them  things — I  guess  on'y  one — is  that  lake's  goin' 
to  best  blind  hulks  an'  force  him  into  givin'  him  his 
daughter  in  marriage,  and  Gawd  help  that  pore  gal. 
But  I  swar  to  Gawd  ef  I'm  pollutin'  this  airth  on  the 
day  as  sees  Jake  worritin'  Miss  Dianny,  I'll  perf'rate 
him  till  y'  can't  tell  his  dog-gone  carkis  from  a  parlor 
cinder-sifter." 

'*  Tell  me  how  I  can  help,  and  count  me  in  to  the 
limit,"  said  Tresler,  catching,  in  his  eagerness,  some- 
thing of  the  other's  manner  of  expression. 

It  was  evident  by  the  way  the  choreman's  face  lit  up 
at  his  friend's  words  that  he  had  hoped  for  such  sup- 
port, but  feared  that  he  should  not  get  it.  Joe  Nelson 
was  distinctly  worldly  wise,  but  with  a  heart  of  gold 
deep  down  beneath  his  wisdom.  He  had  made  no  mis- 
take in  this  man  whose  sympathies  he  had  succeeded 
in  enlisting.     He  fully  understood  that  he  was  dealing 


JOE  INDULGES  IN  MATCH-MAKING        153 

with  just  a  plain,  honest  man,  otherwise  he  would  have 
kept  silence. 

*' Wal,  I  guess  ther'  ain't  a  deal  to  tell."  The  little 
man  looked  straight  ahead  toward  the  dark  streak 
which  marked  the  drop  from  the  prairie  land  to  the  bed 
of  the  Mosquito  River.  **  Still,  it's  li'ble  to  come  along 
right  smart." 

The  man's  suggestion  puzzled  Tresler,  but  he  waited. 
His  own  mind  was  clear  as  to  what  he  personally  in- 
tended, but  it  seemed  to  him  that  Joe  was  troubled  with 
other  thoughts  besides  the  main  object  of  his  discourse. 
And  it  was  these  very  side  issues  that  he  was  keen  to 
learn.  However,  w^hatever  Joe  thought,  whatever  con- 
fusion or  perplexity  he  might  have  been  in,  he  sud- 
denly returned  to  his  main  theme  with  great  warmth  of 
feeling. 

"  But  w^hen  it  comes,  Tresler,  you'll  stand  by  ?  You'll 
plug  hard  fer  her,  jest  as  ef  it  was  you  he  was  tryin'  to 
do  up?  You'll  stop  him?  Say,  you'll  jest  round 
that  gal  up  into  your  own  corrals,  an'  set  your  own 
brand  on  her  quick,  eh  ?     That's  what  I'm  askin'." 

"  I  see.     Marry  her,  eh  ? " 

"An'  why  not  ?"  asked  Joe  quickly.  "  She's  a  heap 
too  good  fer  you.  Ther'  ain't  a  feller  breathin'  amounts 
to  a  row  o'  beans  aside  o'  her.  But  it's  the  on'y  way 
to  save  her  from  Jake.  You'll  do  it.  Yes,  sure,  you'll 
do  it.     I  ken  see  it  in  your  face." 

The  little  fellow  was  leaning  over,  peering  up  into 
Tresler's  face  with  anxious,  almost  fierce  eyes.  His 
emotion  was  intense,  and  at  that  moment  a  refusal 
vvould  have  driven  him  to  despair. 


154  THE  Night-riders 

•'You  are  too  swift  for  me,  Joe,"  Treslersaid  quietly. 
But  his  tone  seemed  to  satisfy  his  companion,  tor  the 
latter  sat  back  in  his  saddle  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  It 
takes  the  consent  of  two  people  to  make  a  marriage. 
However,"  he  went  on,  with  deep  earnestness,  "  I'll 
promise  you  this,  Miss  Marbolt  shall  never  marry  Jake 
unless  it  is  her  own  wish  to  do  so.  And,  furthermore, 
she  shall  never  lack  a  friend,  ready  to  act  on  her  be- 
half, while  I  am  in  the  country." 

*' You've  said  it." 

And  the  finality  of  Joe's  tone  brought  silence. 

In  spite  of  the  punishment  he  knew  to  be  awaiting 
him,  Joe  was  utterly  happy.  It  was  as  though  a  weight, 
which  had  been  oppressing  him  for  years,  had  suddenly 
been  lifted  from  his  shoulders.  He  would  cheerfully 
have  ridden  on  to  any  terror  ever  conceived  by  the 
ruthless  Jake.  Diane's  welfare — Diane's  happiness  ;  it 
was  the  key-note  of  his  life.  He  had  watched.  He 
knew.  Tresler  was  willing  enough  to  marry  her,  and 
she — he  chuckled  joyfully  to  himself. 

''  Jake  ain't  a  dorg's  chance — a  yaller  dorg's  chance. 
When  the  '  tenderfoot '  gits  good  as'  goin'  he'll  choke 
the  life  out  o'  Master  Jake.     Gee  ! " 

And  Tresler,  too,  was  busy  with  his  thoughts.  Joe's 
suggestion  had  brought  him  face  to  face  with  hard  fact, 
and,  moreover,  in  a  measure,  he  had  pledged  himself. 
Now  he  realized,  after  having  listened  to  the  little 
man's  story,  how  much  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Diane.  Joe,  he  knew,  loved  her  as  a  father  might  love 
his  child,  or  a  gardener  his  flowers ;  but  his  was  the 
old,  old  story  that  brought  him  a  delight  such  as  he 


JOE  INDULGES  IN  MATCH-MAKING        155 

felt  no  one  else  had  ever  experienced.  Yes,  he  knew 
now  he  loved  Diane  with  all  the  strength  of  his  power- 
ful nature  ;  and  he  knew,  too,  that  there  could  be  lit- 
tle doubt  but  that  he  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  beauti- 
ful dark,  sad  face  he  had  seen  peering  up  at  him  from 
beneath  the  straw  sun-hat,  at  the  moment  of  their  first 
meeting.  Would  he  marry  Diane  ?  Ay — a  thousand 
times  ay — if  she  would  have  him.  But  there  it  was 
that  he  had  more  doubts  than  Joe.  Would  she  marry 
him  ?  he  asked  himself,  and  a  chill  damped  the  ardor 
of  his  thoughts. 

And  so,  as  they  rode  on,  he  argued  out  the  old  ar- 
guments of  the  lover  ;  so  he  wrestled  with  all  the  old 
doubts  and  fears.  So  he  became  absorbed  in  an  ardent 
train  of  thought  which  shut  out  all  the  serious  issues 
which  he  felt,  that,  for  his  very  love's  sake,  he  should 
have  probed  deeply.  So  he  rode  on  impervious  to  the 
keen,  studious,  sidelong  glances  wise  old,  drunken  old 
Joe  favored  him  with  ;  impervious  to  all,  save  the  flame 
of  love  this  wild  old  ranchman  had  fanned  from  a 
smouldering  ember  to  a  living  fire  ;  impervious  to  time 
and  distance,  until  the  man  at  his  side,  now  thoroughly 
sobered,  called  his  attention  to  their  arrival  at  the  ranch. 

"  Say,  boy,"  he  observed,  "  that's  the  barn  yonder. 
'Fore  we  git  ther'  ther's  jest  one  thing  more.  Jake's 
goin'  to  play  his  hand  by  force.  Savee  ?  Mebbe 
we've  a  notion  o'  that  force — Miss  Dianny  an'  me " 

**  Yes,  and  we  must  think  this  thing  thoroughly 
out,  Joe.  Developments  must  be  our  cue.  We  can 
do  nothing  but  wait  and  be  ready.  There's  the  sher- 
iff  " 


156  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Eh  ?  SherifT  ?  "  Joe  swung  round,  and  was  peer- 
ang  up  into  Tresler's  face. 

"  Ah,  I  forgot."  Tresler's  expression  was  very 
thoughtful.  They  had  arrived  at  the  barn,  and  were 
dismounting.  '*  I  was  following  out  my  own  train  of 
thought.  I  agree  with  you,  Joe,  Red  Mask  and  his  do- 
ings are  at  the  bottom  of  this  business."  His  voice 
had  dropped  now  to  a  low  whisper  lest  any  one  should 
chance  to  be  around. 

Without  a  word  Joe  led  his  horse  into  the  barn,  and, 
off-saddling  him,  fixed  him  up  for  the  night.  Tresler 
did  the  same  for  his  mare.  Then  they  came  out  to- 
gether.    At  the  door  Joe  paused. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked  simply,  "  1  jest  didn't  know  you 
wus  that  smart." 

**  Don't  credit  me  with  smartness.  It's — poor  little 
girl." 

"  Ah ! "  Joe's  face  twisted  into  his  apish  grin. 
'*  Say,  you'll  stick  to  what  you  said  ?  " 

*'  Every  word  of  it." 

"  Good  ;  the  rest's  doin'  itself,  sure." 

And  they  went  their  several  ways  ;  Joe  to  the  kitchen 
of  the  house,  and  Tresler  to  his  dust}'  mattress  in  the 
bunkhouse. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER  ;   THE  LADY 
JEZEBEL  IN  A  FREAKISH  MOOD 

Enthusiasm  is  the  mainspring  of  a  cowboy's  life. 
Without  enthusiasm  a  cowboy  inevitably  falls  to  the 
inglorious  level  of  a  "  hired  man  "  ;  a  nice  distinction 
in  the  social  conditions  of  frontier  life.  The  cowboy  is 
sometimes  a  good  man — not  meaning  a  man  of  relig- 
ion— and  often  a  bad  man.  He  is  rarely  indifferent. 
There  are  no  half  measures  with  him.  His  pride  is  in 
his  craft.  He  will  lavish  the  tenderness  of  a  mother 
for  her  child  upon  his  horse  ;  he  wall  play  poker  till  he 
has  had  the  doubtful  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  last  cent 
pass  into  somebody  else's  pocket  ;  he  will  drink  on  the 
most  generous  scale,  and  is  ever  ready  to  quarrel. 
Even  in  this  last  he  believes  in  thoroughness.  But  he 
has  many  good  points  which  often  outweigh  his  baser 
instincts.  They  can  be  left  to  the  imagination  ;  for  it  is 
best  to  know  the  worst  of  him  at  the  outset  to  get  a 
proper,  and  not  a  glorified  estimate  of  his  true  charac- 
ter. The  object  of  this  story  is  to  give  a  veracious, 
and  not  a  highly  gilded  picture  of  the  hardy  prairie 
man  of  days  gone  by. 

Before  all  things  the  cowboy  is  a  horseman.  His 
pride  in  this  almost  amounts  to  a  craze.  His  fastid- 
iousness in  horse-flesh,  in  his  accoutrements,  his  boots, 


158  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

his  chapps,  his  jaunty  silk  handkerchief  about  his  neck, 
even  to  the  gauntlets  he  so  often  wears  upon  his  hands, 
is  an  education  in  dandyism.  He  is  a  thorough  dandy 
in  his  outfit.  And  the  greater  the  dandy,  the  more 
surely  is  he  a  capable  horseman.  He  is  not  a  horse- 
breaker  by  trade,  but  he  loves  "  broncho-busting"  as  a 
boy  loves  his  recreation.  It  comes  to  him  as  a  relief 
from  the  tedium  of  branding,  feeding,  rounding  up, 
cutting  out,  mending  fences,  and  all  the  utility  work  of 
the  ranch.  Every  unbroken  colt  is  like  a  ticket  in  a 
lottery  ;  it  may  be  easy,  or  it  may  be  a  tartar.  And 
the  tartar  is  the  prize  that  every  cowpuncher  wants  to 
draw  so  that  he  may  demonstrate  his  horsemanship. 

Broncho-busting  was  the  order  of  the  next  day  at 
Mosquito  Bend,  and  all  hands  were  agog,  and  an  ele- 
ment of  general  cheeriness  pervaded  the  bunkhouse 
whilst  breakfast  was  in  preparation.  Marbolt  had  ob- 
tained a  contract  to  supply  the  troops  with  a  large 
band  of  remounts,  and  the  terms  demanded  that  each 
animal  must  be  saddle-broken. 

Tresler,  with  the  rest,  was  up  betimes.  He,  too,  was 
going  to  take  his  part  in  the  horse-breaking.  While 
breakfast  was  in  the  course  of  preparation  he  went  out 
to  overhaul  his  saddle.  There  must  be  no  doubtful 
straps  in  his  gear.  Each  saddle  would  have  a  heavy 
part  to  play,  and  his  own,  being  one  he  had  bought 
second-hand  from  one  of  his  comrades,  needed  looking 
to. 

He  was  very  thoughtful  as  he  went  about  his  work. 
His  overnight  talk  with  Joe  Nelson  had  made  him  real- 
ize that  he  was  no  longer  a  looker-on,  a  pupil,  simply 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    159 

one  of  the  hands  on  the  ranch.  Hitherto  he  had  felt, 
in  a  measure,  free  in  his  actions.  He  could  do  as  it 
pleased  him  to  do.  He  could  have  severed  himself 
from  the  ranch,  and  washed  his  hands  of  all  that  was 
doing  there.  Now  it  was  difterent.  Whether  he 
would  or  no  he  must  play  out  his  part.  He  had  taken 
a  certain  stand,  and  that  stand  involved  him  with 
responsibilities  which  he  had  no  wish  to  shirk. 

His  saddle  was  in  order,  his  mare  had  been  rubbed 
down  and  fed,  and  he  was  leisurely  strolling  over  to 
the  bunkhouse  for  breakfast.  And  as  he  passed  the 
foreman's  hut  he  heard  Jake's  voice  from  within  hail- 
ing him  with  unwonted  cheeriness. 

"  Mornin',  Tresler,"  he  called  out.  **  Late  gettin'  in 
last  night." 

Tresler  moved  over  and  stood  in  the  doorway.  He 
was  wary  of  the  tone,  and  answered  coolly  — 

"  Yes ;  the  mare  bolted  this  side  of  the  ford,  and 
took  me  ten  miles  south.  When  I  got  on  the  Forks 
trail  I  met  Nelson  on  his  way  home." 

*'  Ah,  that  mare's  the  very  devil.  How  are  you 
doin'  with  her  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  so,  so.  She  leads  me  a  danee,  but  I'd  rather 
have  her  than  any  plug  you've  got  on  the  ranch. 
She's  the  finest  thing  I've  ever  put  a  leg  over." 

•*  Yes,  guess  that's  so.  The  boss  was  always  struck 
on  her.  I  kind  of  remember  when  she  came.  She 
wasn't  bred  hereabouts.  The  old  man  bought  her 
from  some  half-breed  outfit  goin'  through  the  country 
three  years  ago — that's  how  he  told  me.  Then  we 
tried  to  break  her.    Say,  you've  done  well  with  her,  boy." 


i6o  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Jake  had  been  lacing  up  a  pair  of  high  field  boots ; 
they  were  massive  things  with  heavy,  clumped  soles, 
iron  tips  and  heels.     Now  he  straightened  up. 

"Did  Nelson  say  why  he  was  late?"  he  went  on 
abruptly. 

'*  No.     And  I  didn't  ask  him." 

**  Ah,  knew  it,  I  s'pose.     Drunk  ?  " 

-  No." 

Tresler  felt  that  the  lie  was  a  justifiable  one. 

"  Then  what  the  devil  kept  the  little  swine  ?  " 

Jake's  brows  suddenly  lowered,  and  the  savage  tone 
was  no  less  than  the  coarse  brutality  of  his  words. 
The  other's  coolness  grew  more  marked. 

*'  That  was  none  of  my  concern.  He'd  delivered  the 
letter,  and  it  was  only  left  for  me  to  hurry  him  home." 

"  ril  swear  he  was  loafin*  around  the  saloon  all  day. 
Say,  I  guess  I'll  see  him  later." 

Tresler  shrugged  and  turned  away.  He  wanted  to 
tell  this  man  what  he  thought  of  him.  He  felt  posi- 
tively murderous  toward  him.  He  had  never  met 
anybody  who  could  so  rouse  him.  Sooner  or  later  a 
crisis  would  come,  in  spite  of  his  reassurances  to 
Diane,  and  then — Jake  watched  him  go.  Then  he 
turned  again  to  the  contemplation  of  his  great  boots, 
and  muttered  to  himself. 

*'  It  won't   be  for  long — no,  not   for  long.     But  not 

yet.     Ther's  too  much  hangin'  to  it "     He  broke 

off,  and  his  fierce  eyes  looked  after  the  retreating  man. 

The  unconscious  object  of  these  attentions  mean* 
while  reached  the  bunkhouse.  Breakfast  was  well  on, 
and  he  had  to  take  his  pannikin  and  plate  round  to 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    i6i 

Teddy's  cx)ok:house  to  get  his  food.  **  Slushy,"  as  the 
cook  was  familiarly  called,  dipped  him  out  a  liberal 
measure  of  pork  and  beans,  and  handed  him  half  a  loaf 
oi  new-made  bread.  Jinks  was  no  niggard,  and  Tres- 
ier  was  always  welcome  to  all  he  needed. 

"  Goin'  to  ride  ?  "  the  youth  demanded,  as  he  filled 
the  pannikin  with  tea. 

"  Why,  of  course."  Tresler  had  almost  forgotten 
the  change  of  work  that  had  been  set  out  for  the  day. 
His  face  brightened  now  as  the  cook  reminded  him  of 
it.  "  Wouldn't  miss  it  for  a  lot.  That  mare  of  mine 
has  given  me  a  taste  for  that  sort  of  thing." 

''  Taste  !  "  Teddy  exclaimed,  with  a  scornful  wave  of 
his  dipper.  "  Belly  full,  I  tho't,  mebbe."  He  turned 
to  his  stove  and  shook  the  ashes  down.  "  Say,"  he 
went  on,  over  his  shoulder,  *' guess  Fm  bakin'  hash  in 
mine.  Ther'  ain't  so  much  glory,  but  ther's  a  heap 
more  comfort  to  it." 

Tresler  passed  out  smiling  at  the  youth's  ample 
philosophy.  But  the  smile  died  out  almost  on  the  in- 
stant. A  half-smothered  cry  reached  him  from  some- 
where in  the  direction  of  the  barn.  He  stood  for  an 
instant  with  his  brows  knitted. 

The  next,  and  his  movements  became  almost  elec- 
trical. 

Now  the  man's  deliberate  character  flatly  contra- 
dicted itself.  There  was  no  pause  for  consideration,  no 
thought  for  what  was  best  to  do.  He  had  heard  that 
cry,  and  had  recognized  the  voice.  It  was  a  cry  that 
summoned  him,  and  wrung  the  depths  of  his  heart. 
His   breakfast  was   pitched   to  the  ground.     And,  as 


i62  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

though  fate  had  ordained  it,  he  beheld  a  heavy  raw 
hide  quirt  lying  on  the  ground  where  he  had  halted. 
He  grabbed  the  cruel  weapon  up,  and  set  off  at  a  run 
in  the  direction  whence  the  cry  had  come. 

His  feet  were  still  encased  in  the  soft  moccasin  slip- 
pers he  usually  wore  in  exchange  for  his  riding  boots, 
and,  as  he  ran,  they  gave  out  no  sound.  It  was  a  mat- 
ter of  fifty  yards  to  the  foreman's  hut,  and  he  sprinted 
this  in  even  time,  keeping  the  building  between  him- 
self and  a  direct  view  of  the  barn,  in  the  region  of 
which  lay  his  destination.  And  as  he  ran  the  set  ex- 
pression of  his  face  boded  ill  for  some  one.  Jaws  and 
mouth  were  clenched  to  a  fierce  rigidity  that  said  far 
more  than  any  words  could  have  done. 

He  paused  for  one  breathless  instant  at  the  hither  side 
of  the  foreman's  hut.  It  was  because  he  heard  Jake's 
voice  cursing  on  the  other  side  of  it.  Then  he  heard 
that  which  made  his  blood  leap  to  his  brain.  It  was  a 
stifled  cry  in  Nelson's  now  almost  unrecognizable  voice. 
And  its  piteous  appeal  aroused  in  him  a  blind  fury. 

He  charged  round  the  building  in  half  a  dozen  strides. 
One  glance  at  the  scene  was  sufficient.  Poor  old  Joe 
Nelson  was  lying  on  the  ground,  his  arms  thrown  out 
to  protect  his  head,  while  Jake,  his  face  ablaze,  stood 
over  him,  kicking  him  with  his  cruel  field  boots,  with  a 
force  and  brutishness  that  promised  to  break  every  bone 
in  the  old  man's  body. 

It  all  came  to  him  in  a  flash. 

Then  he  leapt  with  a  rush  at  the  author  of  the  un- 
natural scene.  The  butt  of  his  quirt  was  uplifted.  It 
swung  above  his  head  a  full  half-circle,  then  it  descended 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    163 

with  that  whistling  split  of  the  air  that  told  of  the  rage 
and  force  that  impelled  it.  It  took  the  giant  square 
across  the  face,  laying  the  flesh  open  and  sending  the 
blood  spurting  with  its  vicious  impact.  It  sent  him 
reeling  backward  with  a  howl  of  pain,  like  a  child  at 
the  slash  of  an  admonishing  cane.  And  Jake's  hands 
went  up  to  his  wounds  at  once  ;  but,  even  so,  his  move- 
ments were  not  swift  enough  to  protect  him  from  a 
second  slash  of  the  vengeful  thong.  And  Tresler's  aim 
was  so  swift  and  sure  that  the  bully  fell  to  the  ground 
like  a  pole-axed  steer. 

And  with  Jake's  fall  the  tension  of  Tresler's  rage  re- 
laxed. He  could  have  carried  the  chastisement  further 
with  a  certain  wild  delight,  but  he  was  no  savage,  only 
a  real,  human  man,  outraged  and  infuriated  by  the 
savagery  of  another.  His  one  thought  was  for  his  poor 
old  friend,  and  he  dropped  on  his  knees,  and  bent  over 
the  still,  shrunken  form  in  a  painful  anxiety.  He  called 
to  him,  and  put  one  hand  under  the  gray  old  head  and 
raised  it  up.  And  as  he  did  so  the  poor  fellow's  eyes 
opened.  Joe  murmured  something  unintelligible,  and 
Tresler  was  about  to  speak  again,  when  a  movement  be- 
hind him  changed  his  purpose  and  brought  him  to  his 
feet  with  a  leap. 

Nor  was  he  any  too  soon.  And  his  rage  lit  anew  as 
he  saw  Jake  struggling  to  rise.  In  an  instant  he  was 
standing  over  him  threateningly. 

"  Move,  and  I'll  paralyze  you  ! "  he  cried  hoarsely. 

And  Jake  made  no  further  efiort.  He  lay  back  with 
a  growl  of  impotent  rage,  while  his  hands  moved  un- 
easily, mopping  his  blood-stained  features. 


i64  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Now  it  was,  for  the  first  time,  Tresler  became  aware 
that  the  men  from  the  bunkhouse  had  come  upon  the 
scene. 

The  sight  of  all  those  faces  gazing  in  wide-eyed  as- 
tonishment at  the  fallen  Jake  brought  home  to  him 
something  of  the  enormity  of  his  offense,  and  it  be- 
hooved him  to  get  joe  out  of  further  harm's  way.  He 
stooped,  and  gathering  the  little  choreman  tenderly 
into  his  powerful  arms,  lifted  him  on  to  his  shoulders 
and  strode  away  to  the  bunkhouse,  followed  by  his 
silent,  wondering  comrades. 

He  deposited  Joe  upon  his  own  bed,  and  the  men 
crowded  round.  And  questions  and  answers  came  in  a 
wild  volley  about  him. 

It  was  Arizona  who  spoke  lea^t  and  rendered  most 
assistance.  Together  he  and  Tresler  undressed  the 
patient  and  treated  him  to  a  rough  surgical  examina- 
tion. They  soon  found  that  no  limbs  were  broken,  but 
of  his  ribs  they  were  less  certain.  He  was  severely 
bruised  about  the  head,  and  this  latter  no  doubt  ac- 
counted for  his  unconsciousness.  Cold  water,  harshly 
applied,  though  with  kind  intent,  w^as  the  necessary  re- 
storative, and  after  a  while  the  twisted  face  took  on  a 
hue  of  life  and  the  eyes  opened.  Then  Tresler  turned 
to  the  men  about  him. 

"  Boys,"  he  said  gravely,  **  I  want  you  all  to  remem- 
ber that  this  is  purely  my  affair.  Joe's  and  mine—  and 
Jake's.  I  shall  settle  it  in  my  own  way.  For  the  pres- 
ent we  have  our  work  to  do." 

There  was  a  low  murmur,  and  Arizona  raised  a  pair  of 
fierce  eyes  to  his  face.     He  was   going  to  speak — to 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    165 

voice  a  common  thought ;  but  Tresler  understood  and 
cut  him  short. 

"  Go  easy,  Arizona.  We're  good  friends  all.  You 
wouldn't  like  me  to  interfere  in  a  quarrel  of  yours." 

"  That's  so— but " 

"  Never  mind  the  '  buts.' "  And  Tresler's  keen,  honest 
eyes  looked  squarely  into  the  seared  face  of  the  wild 
cowpuncher. 

For  a  moment  the  men  stood  around  looking  on  with 
lowering  faces,  eyeing  the  prostrate  man  furtively. 
But  Tresler's  attitude  gave  them  no  encouragement, 
and  even  Arizona  felt  the  influence  of  his  strong  per- 
sonality. Suddenly,  as  though  with  a  j^truggle,  the 
cowboy  swung  round  on  his  fellows  and  his  high-pitched 
tones  filled  the  silent  room. 

**  Come  right  on,  boys.  Guess  he's  right.  We'll 
git."     And  he  mo  'ed  toward  the  door. 

And  the  men,  after  the  slightest  possible  hesitation, 
passed  out  in  his  wake.  Tresler  waited  until  the  door 
had  closed  behind  the  last  of  them,  then  he  turned  to 
the  injured  man. 

**  Feeling  better,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Feelin'  better  ?     Why,  yes,  I  guess. 

Joe's  answer  came  readily,  but  in  a  weak  voice. 

"  No  bones  broken  ?  " 

"  Bones  ?     Don't  seem." 

Tresler  seated  himself  on  the  bunk  and  looked  into 
the  gray  face.  At  last  he  rose  and  prepared  to  go,  but 
joe  detained  him  with  a  look. 

"  Say — they're  gone?"  he  murmured. 

The  other  sat  d^.wn  again.     *'  Yes," 


i66  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

**  Good."  Joe  sighed  and  reclosed  his  eyes  ;  but  it 
was  only  for  a  second.  He  opened  them  again  and 
went  on.  "  Say,  you  won't  tell  her — Miss  Dianny. 
Don't  you  tell  her.  Pore  little  soul,  she'll  wep  them 
pretty  eyes  o'  hers  out,  sure.  Y'  see,  I  know  her. 
Y'  see,  I  did  git  drunk  yesterday.  I  knew  I'd  git  it. 
So  it  don't  signify.     Don't  tell  her." 

*'  She'll  be  sure  to  hear  of  it." 

*'Say,  Tresler,"  Joe  went  on,  ignoring  the  other's  ob- 
jection. *'  Go  easy  ;  jest  say  nothin'.  Kind  o'  fargit 
this  thing  fer  the  time.  Ther's  other  work  fer  you. 
I'd  a  heap  sooner  I'd  bin  killed  than  you  git  roped  into 
this  racket.  It's  Miss  Dianny  you're  to  look  to,  not 
me  ;  an'  now,  mebbe,  they'll  run  you  ofT'n  the  ranch  " 

Tresler  shook  his  head  decidedly.  "  Don't  be  afraid  ; 
they  can't  get  rid  of  me,  Joe,"  he  said. 

*'  Ah !  V/al,  I  guess  meanwhile  you'd  best  git  off  to 
work.  I'll  pull  round  after  a  while.  You  see,  you  must 
go  dead  easy  wi'  Jake,  'cos  o'  her.  Mind  it's  her — 
on'y  her.  You  sed  it  last  night.  Mebbe  this  thing's 
goin'  to  make  trouble.  Trouble  fer  you  ;  an'  trouble  fer 
you  means  trouble  fer  her." 

"  I'm  going." 

Tresler  saw  the  force  of  the  other's  argument.  He 
must  give  them  no  further  hold  to  turn  on  him.  Yes. 
he  saw  how  bad  his  position  would  be  in  the  future. 
He  wondered  what  would  come  of  that  morning's  work  ; 
and,  in  spite  of  his  confident  assurance  to  Joe,  he  dreaded 
now  lest  there  should  be  any  means  for  them  to  get  rid 
of  him.     He  moved  toward  the  door. 

**  All  right,  Joe.     I'll  keep  a  check  on  myself  in  the 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    167 

future,"  he  said.  **  But  don't  you  go  and  get  drunk 
again  or " 

He  broke  off.  Flinging  the  door  open  to  pass  out, 
he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  object  of  their 
solicitude.  Diane  had  been  about  to  knock,  and  now 
started  back  in  confusion.  She  had  not  expected  this. 
She  thought  Tresler  was  with  the  **  breaking  "  party. 
The  man  saw  her  distress,  and  the  anxiety  in  her  sweet 
brown  eyes.  He  knew  that  at  that  moment  all  her 
thought  was  for  Joe.  It  was  the  basket  on  her  arm, 
full  of  comforts,  that  told  him.  And  he  knew,  too,  that 
she  must  have  been  a  witness  to  the  disgraceful  scene 
by  the  barn,  for  how  else  could  she  have  learned  so 
quickly  what  had  happened  ?  He  put  his  finger  on  his 
lip  to  silence  her,  while  he  closed  the  bunkhouse  door 
behind  him.  Then  he  responded  to  the  inquiry  he  saw 
in  her  eager,  troubled  face. 

"  He  is  better.  Miss  Diane.  He  will  soon  be  all 
right,"  he  added,  keeping  his  voice  low  lest  it  should 
reach  the  man  inside.  "  Can  I  give  him  an3^thing  for 
you  ?  Any  message  ? "  He  glanced  significantly 
from  her  face  to  the  basket  on  her  arm. 

The  girl  did  not  answer  at  once.  Her  eyes  looked 
seriously  up  into  his  face. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  at  last,  a  little  vaguely. 
Then  she  broke  out  eagerly,  and  Tresler  understood 
the  feeling  that  prompted  her.  **  I  saw  the  finish  of  it 
all,"  she  went  on  ;  "oh,  the  dreadful  finish.  Thank 
God  I  did  not  see  the  rest.  When  you  bore  him  off  on 
your  shoulders  I  thought  he  was  dead.  Then  I  felt  I 
could  not  stay  away.     While  I  was  wondering  how  to 


i68  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

get  down  here  without  attracting  attention,  Sheriff  Fyles 
arrived,  and  father  and  he  went  at  once  into  the  office. 
I  knew  Jake  would  be  out  of  the  way.  I  waited  until 
Anton  had  disappeared  with  the  sheriff's  horse,  then  I 
hurried  down  here.  Can  I  see  him  now  ?  I  have  a 
few  little  luxuries  here  which  I  scrambled  together  for 
him.'^ 

The  girl's  appeal  was  irresistible.  Nor  was  Tresler 
the  man  to  attempt  the  impossible.  Besides,  she  knew 
all,  so  there  was  nothing  to  hide  from  her.  He  glanced 
over  at  the  barn.  The  men  had  already  saddled.  He 
saw  Arizona  leading  two  horses,  and  recognized  Lady 
Jezebel  as  one  of  them.  The  wdld  cowpuncher  had 
saddled  his  mare  for  him,  and  the  friendliness  of  the  act 
pleased  him. 

"  Yes,  go  in  and  see  him,''  he  said.  "  The  place 
hasn't  been  cleaned  up  yet,  but  perhaps  you  won't  mind 
that.  You  will  come  like  an  angel  of  comfort  to  poor 
Joe.  Poor  old  fellow  !  He  thinks  only  of  you.  You 
are  his  one  care  in  life.  It  will  be  like  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine in  his  clouded  life  to  be  waited  on  by  you.  I 
need  hardly  give  you  the  caution,  but — don't  stay  long." 

Diane  nodded,  and  Tresler  stepped  aside.  The  girl's 
hand  was  on  the  door-latch  ;  she  hesitated  a  moment 
and  finally  faced  about. 

"  Fyles  is  here  now,"  she  said  significantly.  **  The 
raiders  ;  do  you  think  you  ought " 

*'  I  am  going  to  see  him." 

**  Yes."  The  girl  nodded.  She  would  have  said 
more,  but  her  companion  cut  her  short. 

*'  I  must  go,"  he  said.     Then  he  pointed  o^'/er  '-    the 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    169 

mare.  "  You  see  ? "  he  added.  **  She  is  in  view  of 
Jake's  window." 

The  next  moment  they  had  parted. 

The  Lady  Jezebel  was  very  fretful  when  Tresler 
mounted  her.  She  treated  him  to  a  mild  display  of 
bad  temper,  and  then  danced  boisterously  off  down  the 
trail,  and  her  progress  was  as  much  made  on  her  hind 
legs  as  on  all  fours.  Once  round  the  bend  her  ridei 
tried  to  bring  her  to  a  halt,  but  no  persuasion  could 
reduce  her  to  the  necessary  docility.  She  fretted  on 
until,  exasperated,  the  man  jabbed  her  sharply  with  the 
spurs.  Then  the  mischief  started.  Her  head  went 
down  and  her  back  humped,  and  she  settled  to  a  bat- 
tle royal. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  that  another  horseman 
rounded  the  bend  and  rode  leisurely  on  to  the  field  of 
battle.  He  drew  up  and  watched  the  conflict  with  in- 
terest, his  own  great  raw-boned  bay  taking  quite  as 
enthusiastic  an  interest  in  what  was  going  forward  as 
its  rider. 

The  mare  fought  like  a  demon  ;  but  Tresler  had 
learned  too  much  for  her,  and  sat  on  his  saddle  as 
though  glued  to  it ;  and  the  newcomer's  interest  be- 
came blended  with  admiration  for  the  exhibition  of 
horsemanship  he  was  witnessing.  As  suddenly  as  she 
had  begun  the  lady  desisted.  It  was  in  a  pause  for 
Dreath  that  she  raised  her  infuriated  head  and  espied 
the  intruder.  Doubtless,  realizing  the  futility  of  her  ef- 
forts, and  at  the  same  time  not  wishing  one  of  the  o|> 
posite  sex  to  witness  her  defeat,  she  preferred  to  dis- 
guise her  anger  and  gave  the  impression  of  a  quiet, 


I/O  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

frivolous  gambol,  for  she  whinnied  softly  and  stared, 
with  ears  pricked  and  head  erect,  in  a  haughty  look  of 
inquiry  at  the  more  cumbersome  figure  of  the  bay. 

And  her  rider,  too,  had  time  to  look  around.  His 
glance  at  once  fell  upon  the  stranger,  and  he  knew  that 
it  was  the  man  he  wanted  to  talk  to. 

The  two  men  met  with  little  formality. 

"  Sheriff  Fyles?"  Tresler  said  as  he  came  up. 

There  was  something  wonderfully  picturesque  yet 
businesslike  about  this  prairie  sleuth.  This  man  was 
the  first  of  his  kind  he  had  seen,  and  he  studied  him 
with  interest.  The  thought  of  Sheriff  Fyles  had  come 
so  suddenly  into  his  mind,  and  so  recently,  that  he  had 
no  time  to  form  any  imaginative  picture  of  him.  Had 
he  done  so  he  must  inevitably  have  been  disappointed 
with  the  reality,  for  Fyles  was  neither  becoming  nor 
even  imposing.  He  was  rather  short  and  decidedly 
burly,  and  his  face  had  an  innocent  caste  about  it,  a 
farmer-like  mould  of  russet-tanned  features  that  was 
extremely  healthy-looking,  but  in  no  way  remarkable 
for  any  appearance  of  great  intelligence. 

But  this  was  a  case  of  the  fallibility  of  appearances. 
Fyies  was  remarkable  both  for  great  intelligence  and 
extreme  shrewdness.  Not  only  that,  he  was  a  man  of 
catlike  activity.  His  bulk  was  the  result  of  a  super- 
abundance of  muscle,  and  not  of  superfluous  tissue. 
His  bucolic  spread  of  features  was  useful  to  him  in  that 
it  detracted  from  the  cold,  keen,  compelling  eyes  which 
looked  out  from  beneath  his  shaggy  eyebrows  ;  and, 
too,  the  full  cheeks  and  fat  neck,  helping  to  hide  the 
determined  jaws,  which  had  a  knack  of  closing   his 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    171 

rather  full  lips  into  a  thin,  straight  line.  Nature  never 
intended  a  man  of  his  mould  to  occupy  the  position 
that  Fyles  held  in  his  country's  peace  regime.  He  was 
one  of  her  happy  mistakes. 

And  in  that  first  survey  Tresier  realized  something 
of  the  personality  which  form  and  features  were  so  lu- 
dicrously struggling  to  conceal. 

*'Yes."  The  officer  let  his  eyes  move  slowly  over 
this  stranger.  Then,  without  the  least  expression  of 
cordiaHty  he  spoke  the  thought  in  his  mind.  *'  That's 
a  good  nag — remarkably  good.  You  handle  her  tol- 
erably.    Didn't  get  your  name  ?  " 

"  Tresier — John  Tresier." 

'*  Yes.     New  hereabouts  ?  " 

The  broad-shouldered  man  had  an  aggravatingly 
official  manner.     Tresier  replied  with  a  nod. 

"  Ah  !     Remittance  man  ?  " 

At  this  the  other  laughed  outright.  He  saw  it  was 
useless  to  display  any  anger. 

**  Wrong,"  he  said.  *' Learning  the  business  of 
ranching.  Going  to  start  on  my  own  account  later 
on." 

"  Ah  !     Younger  son  ?  " 

•'  Not  even  a  younger  son  I  "  The  two  horses  were 
now  moving  leisurely  on  toward  the  ford.  *'  Suppose 
we  quit  questions  and  answers  that  serve  no  particular 
purpose,  sheriff.     I  have  been  waiting  to  see  you." 

"  So  I   figured,"  observed  the  other,  imperturbably, 

or  you  wouldn't  have  answered  my  questions  so 
-iniably.     Well?" 

The  sheriff  permitted  himself  a  sort  of  wintry  smiley 


1/2  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

while  his  watchful  eyes  wandered  interestedly  over  the 
surrounding  bush. 

''  There  are  things  doing  about  this  country,"  Tresler 
began  a  litde  lamely.     **  You've  possibly  heard?" 

"  Things  are  generally  doing  in  a  cattle  country 
where  brands  are  easily  changed  and  there  is  no  official 
to  inquire  who  has  changed  theni." 

Fyles  glanced  admiringly  down  at  Lady  Jezebel's 
beautiful  clean  legs. 

''  This  Red  Mask?"  Tresler  asked. 

"  Exactly." 

"  You've  heard  the  story  of  his  latest  escapade  ? 
The  murder  of  Manson  Orr?" 

"  From  Mr.  Marbolt — and  others.  In  telling  me,  the 
blind  man  offered  five  thousand  dollars'  reward  for  the 
capture  of  the  man." 

**  That's  better  than  I  hoped  for,"  replied  Tresler 
musingly.  **  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  the  blind  man's 
something  cantankerous.  He's  lost  cattle  himself,  but 
when  some  of  the  boys  offered  to  hunt  Red  Maskdowr 
he  treated  them  with  scant  courtesy — in  fact,  threat- 
ened to  discharge  any  man  who  left  the  ranch  on  that 
quest." 

"  I  found  him  amiable." 

"  You  would."  Tresler  paused.  This  man  was  diffi- 
cult  to  talk  to,  and  he  wanted  to  say  so  much.  Sud- 
denly he  turned  and  faced  him,  and,  to  his  chagrin,  dis- 
covered that  the  other  was  still  intent  on  the  mare  he 
was  riding.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  lady's  shoulder, 
where  the  indistinct  marks  of  the  brand  were  still  visible 
*-'  You  see.  sergeant,"  he  went  on,  ignoring  the  other',* 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    17? 

abstraction.  "  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you,  which,  in  youi 
official  capacity,  you  may  find  interesting.  In  the  light 
of  recent  events,  I,  at  any  rate,  find  it  interesting.  It 
has  set  me  thinking  a  heap." 

*'  Go  ahead,'-  said  the  officer,  without  even  so  much 
as  raising  his  eyes.  Tresler  followed  the  direction  of 
his  gaze,  but  could  see  nothing  more  interesting  in  his 
mare's  fore-quarters  than  their  perfect  shape.  How- 
ever, there  was  no  alternative  but  to  proceed  with  his 
narrative.  And  he  told  the  sheriff  of  the  visit  of  the 
night-riders  which  he  had  witnessed  on  the  night  of  his 
arrival  at  the  ranch.  In  spite  of  the  other's  apparent 
abstraction,  he  told  the  story  carefully  and  faithfully, 
and  his  closing  remarks  were  well  pointed  and  displayed 
a  close  analysis.  He  told  him  of  the  previous  visits  of 
these  night-riders,  and  the  results  following  upon  the 
circulation  of  the  story  by  each  individual  who  chanced 
to  witness  them.  He  told  of  Joe  Nelson's  warning  to 
him,  and  how  his  earnestness  had,  at  length,  persuaded 
him  to  keep  quiet.  He  felt  no  scruples  in  thus  chang- 
ing the  responsibility  of  Diane's  warning.  Nothing 
would  have  induced  him  to  drag  her  name  into  the 
matter. 

"  You  see,  sheriff,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  *'  I  think  I 
did  right  to  keep  this  matter  to  myself  until  such  time 
as  I  could  tell  it  to  you.  It  has  all  happened  several 
times  before,  and,  therefore,  will  no  doubt  happen 
again.     What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  She's  the  finest  thing  I've  ever  set  two  eyes  on. 
There's  only  one  like  her — eh  ?  "  Tresler  had  given 
audible  expression  to  his  impatience,  and  the  other 


1/4  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

abruptly  withdrew  his  gaze  from  the  mare.  **  It's  in- 
teresting— decidedly." 

*'  Did  Marbolt  tell  you  of  the  previous  visits  of  these 
raiders?     He  knows  of  them." 

"  He  told  me  more  than  I  had  time  to  listen  to." 

"How?" 

"  He  told  me  of  the  revolutionary  spirit  pervading 
the  ranch." 

"  Ah  ! " 

Tresler  saw  the  trap  the  wily  police  officer  had  laid 
for  him  and  refused  the  bait.  Evidently  the  blind  man 
had  told  his  version  of  that  morning's  doings,  and  the 
sheriff  wished  to  learn  the  men's  side  of  it.  Probably 
his,  Tresler's.  This  calm,  cold  man  seemed  to  depend 
in  no  way  upon  verbal  answers  for  the  information  he 
desired,  for  he  went  on  without  any  appearance  of  ex- 
pecting a  reply. 

''There's  one  thing  you've  made  plain  to  me.  You 
suspect  collusion  between  these  raiders  and  some  one 
on  the  ranch." 

*'  Yes.     I  meant  you  to  understand  that." 

"  Whom  do  you  suspect  ?     And  your  reasons  ?  " 

The  two  questions  rapped  out  one  after  the  other  liks 
lightning. 

**  My  suspicions  rest  nowhere,  because  I  can  find  no 
reason." 

They  had  drawn  rein  at  the  ford.  Fyles  now  looked 
keenly  into  Tresler's  face,  and  his  glance  was  full  of 
meaning. 

"  I'm  glad  I've  had  this  talk  with  you,  Tresler.  You 
have  a  keen  faculty  for  observation,  and  a  wise  cautioHr 


TRESLER  INVOLVES  HIMSELF  FURTHER    175 

When  you  have  reason  to  suspect  any  one,  and  wish  to 
tell  me  of  it,  you  can  communicate  with  me  at  any  hour 
of  the  day  or  night.  I  know  this  ranch  well  by  repute. 
So  well,  in  fact,  that  I  came  out  here  to  find  you.  You 
see,  you  also  were  known  to  me — through  mutual  ac- 
quaintances in  Forks  Now  your  excellent  caution  will 
tell  you  that  it  would  be  bad  policy  for  you  to  com- 
municate openly  with  me.  Good.  Your  equally  ex- 
cellent observation  will  have  called  your  attention  to 
this  river.  I  have  a  posse  stationed  further  dow^n 
stream,  for  certain  reasons  which  I  wdll  keep  to  myself. 
It  is  a  hidden  posse,  but  it  will  always  be  there.  Now, 
to  a  man  of  your  natural  cleverness,  I  do  not  think  you 
will  have  any  difficulty  in  finding  a  means  of  floating  a 
message  down  to  me.  But  do  not  send  an  urgent  mes- 
sage unless  the  urgency  is  positive.  Any  message  I  re- 
ceive in  that  way  I  shall  act  upon  at  once.  I  have 
learned  a  great  deal  to-day,  Tresler,  so  much  indeed 
that  I  even  think  you  may  need  to  use  this  river  before 
Jong.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  be  circumspect — that's  the 
word,  circumspect." 

The  sheriff  edged  his  horse  away  so  that  he  could  ob- 
tain a  good  view  of  Lady  Jezebel.  And  he  gazed  at 
her  with  so  much  intentness  that  Tresler  felt  he  must 
call  attention  to  it. 

"  She  is  a  beauty,"  he  suggested. 

And  Fyles  answered  with  a  sharp  question.  *'  Is  she 
yours  ?  " 

"  No.     Only  to  use." 

*'  Belongs  to  the  ranch  ?  " 

"  Jake  told  me  she  is  a  mare  the  blind  man  bought 


176  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

from  a  half-breed  outfit  passing  through  the  country. 
He  sets  great  store  by  her,  but  they  couldn't  tame  her 
into  reliability.  That's  three  years  ago.  By  her  mouth 
I  should  say  she  was  rising  seven." 

"  That's  so.     She'd  be  rising  seven.     She's  a  dandy." 

"  You  seem  to  know  her." 

But  Fyles  made  no  answer.  He  swung  his  horse 
round,  and,  raising  his  hand  in  a  half-military  salute  in 
token  of  "  good-bye,"  called  over  his  shoulder  as  his 
bay  took  to  the  water  — 

"  Don't  forget  the  river." 

Tresler  looked  after  him  for  some  moments,  then  his 
mare  suddenly  reared  and  plunged  into  the  water  to 
follow.  He  understood  at  once  thac  fresh  trouble  was 
brewing  in  her  ill-balanced  equine  mind,  and  took  her 
sharply  to  task.  She  couldn't  buck  in  the  water ;  and, 
finally,  after  another  prolonged  battle,  she  dashed  out 
of  it  and  on  to  the  bank  again.  But  in  the  scrimmage 
she  had  managed  to  get  the  side-bar  of  the  bit  between 
her  teeth,  and,  as  she  landed,  she  stretched  out  her  lean 
neck,  and  with  a  snort  of  ill-temper,  set  off  headlong 
down  the  trail 


CHAPTER  X 

A  WILD   RIDE 

The  intractability  of  the  Lady  Jezebel  was  beyond 
all  bounds.  Her  vagaries  were  legion.  After  his  ex- 
periences with  her,  Tresler  might  have  been  forgiven 
the  vanity  of  believing,  in  spite  of  her  sex,  that  he  had 
fathomed  her  every  mood.  But  she  was  forever 
springing  unpleasant  surprises,  and  her  present  one  was 
of  a  more  alarming  nature  than  anything  that  had  gone 
before.  One  of  her  tricks,  bolting,  was  not  so  very 
serious,  but  now  she  proved  herself  a  '*  blind  bolter." 
And  among  horsemen  there  is  only  one  thing  to  do  with 
a  blind  bolter — shoot  it.  A  horse  of  this  description 
seems  to  be  imbued  with  but  one  idea — a  furious  desire 
to  go,  to  run  anywhere,  to  run  into  anything  lying  in 
its  course,  to  run  on  until  its  strength  is  spent,  or  its 
career  is  suddenly  terminated  by  a  forcible  full  stop. 

At  the  bend  of  the  trail  the  mare  took  blindly  to  the 
bush.  Chance  guided  her  on  to  a  cattle-path  which  cut 
through  to  the  pinewoods  beyond.  It  was  but  a  mat- 
ter of  moments  before  her  rider  saw  the  dark  shadow 
of  the  woodlands  come  at  him  with  a  rush,  and  he 
plunged  headlong  into  the  gray  twilight  of  their  virgin 
depths.  He  had  just  time  to  crouch  down  in  the  sad- 
dle, with  his  face  buried  in  the  tangle  of  the  creature's 
flying  mane,  when  the  drooping  boughs,  laden  with 


178  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

their  sad  foliage,  swept  his  back.  He  knew  there  were 
only  two  courses  open  to  him.  Either  he  must  sit  tight 
and  chance  his  luck  till  the  mad  frolic  was  spent,  oi 
throw  himself  headlong  from  the  saddle  at  the  first 
likely  spot.  A  more  experienced  horseman  would,  no 
doubt,  have  chosen  the  latter  course  without  a  second 
thought.  But  he  preferred  to  stay  with  the  mare.  He 
was  loth  to  admit  defeat.  She  had  never  bested  him 
yet,  and  a  sort  of  petty  vanity  refused  to  allow  him  to 
acknowledge  her  triumph  now.  They  might  come  to 
an  opening,  he  told  himself,  a  stretch  of  open  country. 
The  mare  might  tire  of  the  forest  gloom  and  turn 
prairie-ward.  These  things  suggested  themselves 
merely  as  an  excuse  for  his  foolhardiness  in  remaining 
in  the  saddle,  not  that  he  had  any  hope  of  their  fulfil- 
ment. 

And  so  it  was.  Nothing  moved  the  animal  out  of 
her  course,  and  it  seemed  almost  as  though  a  miracle 
were  in  operation.  For,  in  all  that  labyrinth  of  tree- 
trunks,  a  sheer  road  constantly  opened  out  before  them. 
Once,  and  once  only,  disaster  was  within  an  ace  of  him. 
She  brushed  a  mighty  black-barked  giant  with  her 
shoulders.  Tresler's  knee  struck  it  with  such  painful 
force  that  his  foot  was  wrenched  from  the  stirrup  and 
dragged  back  so  that  the  rowel  of  his  spur  was  plunged, 
with  terrific  force,  into  the  creature's  flank.  She  re- 
sponded to  the  blow  with  a  sideways  leap,  and  it  was 
only  by  sheer  physical  strength  her  rider  retained  his 
seat.  Time  and  again  the  reaching  boughs  swept  him 
and  tore  at  his  clothes,  frequently  lacerating  the  flesh 
beneath  with  the  force  of  their  impact. 


A  WILD  RIDE  179 

These  things,  however,  were  only  minor  troubles  as 
he  raced  down  the  grim  forest  aisles.  His  thoughts 
centred  themselves  on  the  main  chance — the  chance 
that  embraced  life  and  death.  An  ill-fate  might,  at 
any  moment,  plunge  horse  and  rider  headlong  into 
one  of  those  silent  sentries.  It  would  mean  anything. 
Broken  limbs  at  the  best.  But  Providence  ever  watches 
over  the  reckless  horseman,  and,  in  spite  of  a  certain 
native  caution  in  most  things,  Tresler  certainly  was 
that.  He  knew  no  fear  of  this  jade  of  a  mare,  and  deep 
down  in  his  heart  there  was  a  wild  feeling  of  joy,  a 
whole-hearted  delight  in  the  very  madness  of  the  race. 

And  the  animal  herself,  untamed,  unchecked,  froth- 
ing at  her  bit,  her  sides  a-lather  with  foam,  her  barrel 
tuckered  like  that  of  a  finely  trained  race-horse,  rushed 
blindly  on.  The  forest  echoed  and  reechoed  with  the 
dull  thud  of  her  hoofs  as  they  pounded  the  thick  under- 
lay of  rotting  cones.  And  her  rider  breathed  hard  as 
he  lay  with  his  head  beside  the  reeking  neck,  and 
watched  for  the  coming  of  the  end. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  gray,  he  saw  a  flash  of 
sunlight.  It  was  like  a  beacon  light  to  a  storm-driven 
mariner.  It  was  only  a  gleam  of  sunshine  and  was 
gone  almost  at  once,  but  it  told  him  that  he  was  fast 
coming  on  the  river.  The  final  shoals,  maybe,  where 
wreck  alone  awaited  him.  Just  for  an  instant  his  pur- 
pose wavered.  There  was  still  time  to  drop  to  the 
ground.  He  would  have  to  chance  the  mare's  flying 
heels.     And  it  might  save  him. 

But  the  idea  was  driven  from  his  head  almost  before 
he  realized  it ;  the  mare  swerved  like  a  skidding  vehicle. 


i8o  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

He  clung  desperately  to  her  mane,  one  arm  was  even 
round  her  neck  in  a  forcible  embrace.  The  struggle 
lasted  only  a  few  seconds.  Then,  as  he  recovered  his 
equilibrium,  he  saw  that  she  had  turned  into  what  v»as 
undoubtedly  a  well-defined,  but  long-disused,  forest 
trail.  The  way  was  clear  of  obstruction.  The  trees 
had  parted,  opening  up  a  wide  avenue,  and  above  him 
shone  the  perfect  azure  of  the  summer  sky. 

He  was  amazed.  Where  could  such  a  trail  lead? 
His  answer  came  immediately.  Away  ahead  of  him, 
towering  above  the  abundant  foliage,  he  saw  the  dis- 
tant shimmer  of  snowy  peaks,  and  nearer — so  near  as 
to  make  him  marvel  aloud — the  forest-clad,  broken 
lands  of  the  foot-hills.  Immediate  danger  was  past  and 
he  had  time  to  think.  At  all  cost  he  must  endeavor  to 
stop  the  racing  beast  under  him.  So  he  began  a  vicious 
sawing  at  her  mouth.  His  efforts  only  drove  her  faster, 
and  caused  her  to  throw  her  head  higher  and  higher, 
until  her  crown  was  within  six  inches  of  his  face. 

The  futility  of  his  purpose  was  almost  ludicrous.  He 
desisted.  And  the  Lady  Jezebel  lowered  her  head  with 
an  angry  snort  and  rushed  on  harder  than  ever.  And 
now  the  race  continued  without  relaxing.  Once  or 
twice  Tresler  thought  he  detected  other  hoof-marks  on 
the  trail,  but  his  impression  of  them  was  very  uncertain. 
One  thing  surely  struck  him,  however :  since  entering 
this  relic  of  the  old  Indian  days,  a  decided  change  had 
come  over  the  mare.  She  was  no  longer  running 
blind  ;  more,  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  displayed  that 
inexpressible  familiarity  with  her  surroundings  which  a 
true  horseman  can  always  detect,  yet  never  describe. 


A  WILD  RIDE  l8i 

This  knowledge  led  him  to  the  hope  of  the  passing  of 
her  temper. 

But  his  hope  was  an  optimistic  mistake.  The  sweat 
pouring  from  neck,  shoulders,  and  flanks,  she  still  lifted 
her  mud-brown  barrel  to  her  mighty  stride,  with  all  the 
vim  and  lightness  of  the  start.  He  felt  that,  jade  that 
she  was,  she  ran  because  she  loved  it ;  ran  with  a  de- 
light that  acted  as  a  safety-valve  for  her  villainous 
temper.  She  would  run  herself  into  amiability  and 
then  stop,  but  not  before.  And  he  knew  her  temper 
so  well  that  he  saw  many  miles  lying  ahead  of  him. 

The  rift  was  gradually  widening,  and  the  forest  on 
either  side  thinned.  The  trees  were  wider  and  more 
scattered,  and  the  broken  hilltops,  which  but  now  had 
been  well  ahead,  were  frowning  right  over  him,  and  he 
knew,  by  the  steady,  gradual  rise  of  the  country,  that 
he  would  soon  be  well  within  the  maze  of  forest,  crag, 
and  ravine,  which  composed  the  mountain  foot-hills. 

At  last  the  forest  broke  and  the  ragged  land  leapt 
into  full  view  with  magical  abruptness.  It  was  as 
though  Nature  had  grown  her  forest  within  the  con- 
fines of  a  field  embraced  by  an  imaginary  hedge. 
There  were  no  outskirts,  no  dwindling  away.  It  ended 
in  one  clean-cut  line.  And  beyond  lay  the  rampart 
hills,  fringed  and  patched  with  disheveled  bluff,  split 
by  rifts  and  yawning  chasms.  And  ever  they  rose 
higher  and  higher  as  the  distance  gained,  and,  though 
summer  was  not  yet  at  its  height,  it  was  gaunt-looking, 
torn,  chaotic,  a  land  of  desolation. 

The  mare  held  straight  on.  The  change  of  scene  had 
no  effect  on  her  ;  the  trail  still  lay  before  her,  and  she 


i82  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

seemed  satisfied  with  it.  Tresler  looked  for  the  river 
He  knew  it  was  somew^here  near  by.  He  gazed  awa}' 
to  the  right,  and  his  conjecture  was  proved  at  once 
There  it  lay,  the  Mosquito  River,  narrowed  and  foam- 
ing, a  torrent  with  high,  clean-cut  banks.  He  followed 
its  course  ahead  and  saw  that  the  banks  lost  themselves 
in  the  shadow  between  towering,  almost  barren  hills, 
which  promised  the  narrow  mouth  of  a  valley  beyond. 

And  as  he  watched  these  things,  a  feeling  of  uneasiness 
came  over  him.  The  split  between  the  hills  looked  so 
narrow.  He  looked  for  the  trail.  It  seemed  to  make 
straight  for  the  opening.  As  the  ground  flew  under 
him,  he  turned  once  more  to  the  river  and  followed  its 
course  with  his  eyes,  and  suddenly  he  was  thrilled  with 
his  first  real  feeling  of  apprehension.  The  river  on  the 
right,  and  the  hill  on  the  left  of  him  were  converging. 
Nor  could  he  avoid  that  meeting-point. 

He  was  borne  on  by  the  bolting  mare.  There  was 
not  the  smallest  hope  of  restraining  her.  Whatever 
lay  before  him,  he  must  face  it,  and  face  it  with  every 
faculty  alert  and  ready.  His  m.outh  parched,  and  he 
licked  his  lips.  He  was  facing  a  danger  now  that  was 
uncertain,  and  the  uncertainty  of  it  strung  him  with  a 
nervous  apprehension. 

Bluff  succeeded  bluff  in  rapid  succession.  The  hill 
on  the  left  had  become  a  sheer  cliff,  and  the  general 
aspect  of  the  country,  that  of  a  tremendous  gorge 
The  trail  rose  slightly  and  wound  its  tortuous  w^ay  in 
such  an  aggravating  manner  that  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  see  what  lay  before  him. 

At  one  point  he  came  to  a  fork  where  another  trail, 


A  WILD  RIDE  183 

less  defined,  branched  away  to  the  right.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  dreaded  lest  the  mare  should  adopt  the  new 
way.  He  knew  what  lay  out  there — the  river.  How- 
ever, his  fears  were  quickly  allayed.  The  Lady  Jezebel 
had  no  intention  of  leaving  the  road  she  was  on. 

They  passed  the  fork,  and  he  sighed  his  relief.  But 
his  relief  was  short-lived.  Without  a  sign  or  warning 
the  trail  he  was  on  died  out,  and  his  course  lay  over  a 
narrow  level  flat  sparsely  dotted  with  small,  scubbly 
bush.  Now  he  knew  that  the  mare  had  been  true  to 
herself.  She  had  passed  the  real  trail  by,  and  was 
running  headlong  to 

He  dared  think  no  more.  He  knew  the  crisis  was  at 
hand.  He  had  reached  the  narrowest  point  of  the 
opening  between  the  two  hills,  and  there  stretched  the 
river  right  across  his  path  less  than  fifty  yards  ahead. 
It  took  no  central  course — as  might  have  been  expected 
— through  the  gorge.  It  met  the  left-hand  cliff  diago- 
nally, and,  further  on,  adopted  its  sheer  side  for  its  left 
bank.  He  saw  the  clearly  defined  cutting,  sharp,  pre- 
cise, before  it  reached  the  cliff,  and  he  was  riding  straight 
for  it ! 

In  that  first  moment  of  realization  he  passed  through 
every  sensation  of  fear ;  but  no  time  was  given  him  for 
thought.  Fifty  yards  !  What  was  that  to  the  raking 
stride  of  his  untamed  mare  ?  It  would  be  gone  in  a 
few  seconds.  Action  was  the  only  thing  to  serve  him, 
and  such  action  as  instinct  prompted  him  to  was  utterly 
unavailing.  With  a  mighty  heave  of  his  body,  and 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  sinewy  arms,  he  tried  to  pull 
the  creature  on  to  her  haunches.     As  well  try  to  stem 


i84  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

the  tide  ahead  of  him.  She  threw  up  her  head  until  it 
nearly  struck  him  in  the  face  ;  she  pawed  the  air  with 
her  great  front  legs ;  then,  as  he  released  her,  she  rushed 
forward  again  with  a  vicious  snort. 

His  case  seemed  utterly  hopeless.  He  sat  down 
tight  in  the  saddle,  leaning  slightly  forward.  He  held 
his  reins  low,  keeping  a  steady  strain  upon  them. 
There  was  a  vague,  wild  thought  in  his  mind.  He 
knew  the  river  had  narrowed.  Was  it  a  possible  jump? 
He  feared  the  very  worst,  but  clung  desperately  to  the 
hope.  He  would  lift  the  creature  to  it  when  it  came, 
anyhow.  Would  she  see  it?  Would  she,  freakish 
brute  that  she  was,  realize  her  own  danger,  and,  for 
once  in  her  desperate  life,  do  one  sensible  act  ?  He  did 
not  expect  it.  He  dared  not  hope  for  that.  He  only 
wondered. 

He  could  see  the  full  extent  of  the  chasm  now.  And 
he  thrilled  as  he  realized  that  it  was  broader  than  he 
had  supposed.  Worse,  the  far  bank  was  lower,  and  a 
fringe  of  bush  hung  at  its  very  edge.  His  jaws  tight- 
ened as  he  came  up.  He  could  hear  the  roar  of  the 
torrent  below,  and,  to  his  strained  fancy,  it  seemed  to 
come  up  from  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth. 

A  few  more  strides.  He  timed  his  effort  with  a  judg- 
ment inspired  by  the  knowledge  that  his  life  depended 
on  it — it,  and  the  mare. 

The  chasm  now  came  at  him  with  a  rush.  Suddenly 
he  leaned  over  and  let  out  a  wild  "  halloo  !  "  in  the 
creature's  ears.  At  the  same  time  he  lifted  her  and 
plunged  his  spurs  hard  into  her  flanks.  The  effect  was 
instantaneous,  electrical.     Just  for  an  instant  it  seemed 


A  WILD  RIDE  185 

to  him  that  some  unseen  power  had  suddenly  shot  her 
from  under  him.  He  had  a  sensation  of  being  left  be- 
hind, while  yet  he  was  rushing  through  the  air  with  the 
saddle  flying  from  under  him.  Then  all  seemed  still, 
and  he  was  gliding,  the  lower  part  of  his  body  strug- 
gling to  outstrip  the  rest  of  him.  He  had  an  impres- 
sion of  some  great  depth  below  him,  though  he  knew 
he  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing.  There  came  a  great 
jolt.  He  lurched  on  to  the  animal's  neck,  recovered 
himself,  and,  the  next  instant,  the  old  desperate  gallop 
was  going  on  as  before. 

He  looked  back  and  shivered  as  he  saw  the  gaping 
rift  behind  him.  The  jump  had  been  terrific,  and,  as 
he  realized  the  marvel  of  the  feat,  he  leaned  over  and 
patted  the  mare's  reeking  shoulder.  She  had  performed 
an  act  after  her  own  wild  heart. 

And  Tresler  laughed  aloud  at  the  thought.  He  could 
afford  to  laugh  now,  for  he  saw  the  end  of  his  journey 
coming.  He  had  landed  on  the  trail  he  had  lost,  in  all 
probability  the  continuation  across  the  river  of  the 
branch  road  he  had  missed  on  the  other  side,  and  this 
was  heading  directly  for  the  hill  before  him.  More,  he 
could  see  it  winding  its  way  up  the  hill.  Even  the 
Lady  Jezebel,  he  thought,  would  find  that  ascent  more 
than  to  her  liking. 

And  he  was  right.  She  faced  it  and  breasted  it  like 
the  lion-hearted  animal  she  was,  but  the  loose  sandy 
surface,  and  the  abruptness  of  the  incline,  first  brought 
her  to  a  series  of  plunges,  and  finally  to  her  knees  and 
a  dead  halt. 

And  Tresler  was  out  of  the  saddle  in  an  instant,  and 


i86  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

drew  the  reins  over  her  head,  while  she,  now  quite  sub* 
dued,  struggled  to  her  feet.  She  was  utterly  blown, 
and  her  master  was  little  better.  They  stood  together 
on  that  hillside  and  rested. 

Now  the  man  had  a  full  view  of  the  river  below%  and 
he  realized  the  jump  that  the  mare  had  made.  And, 
further  down,  he  beheld  an  astonishing  sight  At  a 
point  where  the  course  of  the  river  narrowed,  a  rough 
bridge  of  pine-logs  had  been  thrown  across  it.  He 
stood  for  some  minutes  contemplating  the  scene  and 
busy  with  his  thoughts,  which  at  last  culminated  in  a 
question  uttered  aloud  — 

'*  Where  on  earth  does  it  lead  to  ?  " 

And  he  turned  and  surveyed  the  point,  where,  higher 
up,  the  trail  vanished  round  the  hillside  above  him. 
The  question  voiced  a  natural  curiosity  which  he 
promptly  proceeded  to  satisfy.  Linking  his  arm 
through  the  reins,  he  led  the  mare  up  the  hill. 

It  was  a  laborious  climb.  Even  free  of  her  burden 
the  horse  had  difficulty  in  keeping  her  feet.  The 
sandy  surface  was  deep,  and  poured  away  at  every 
step  like  the  dry  sand  on  the  seashore.  And  as  they 
labored  up,  Tresler's  wonder  increased  at  every  step. 
Why  had  such  a  trail  been  made,  and  where — where 
could  it  lead  to  ? 

At  length  the  vanishing-point  was  reached,  and 
horse  and  rider  rounded  the  bend.  And  immediately 
the  reason  was  made  plain.  But  even  the  reason  sank 
into  insignificance  before  the  splendor  of  the  scene 
which  presented  itself. 

He  was  standing  on  a  sort  of  shelf  cut  out  of  the 


A  WILD  RIDE  187 

hillside.  It  was  not  more  than  fifty  yards  long,  and 
some  twenty  wide,  but  it  stood  high  over  a  wide,  far- 
reaching  valley,  scooped  out  amongst  the  great  foot- 
hills which  reared  their  crests  about  him  on  every  side^ 
Far  as  the  eye  could  see  was  spread  out  the  bright, 
early  summer  green  of  the  grass-land  hollow.  For  the 
most  part  the  surrounding  hills  were  precipitate,  and 
rose  sheer  from  the  bed  of  the  valley,  but  here  and 
there  a  friendly  landslide  had  made  the  place  accessi- 
ble. Just  where  he  stood,  and  all  along  the  shelf,  the 
face  of  the  hill  formed  a  precipice,  both  above  and 
below,  and  the  only  approach  to  it  was  the  way  he 
had  come  round  from  the  other  side  of  the  hill. 

And  the  object,  the  reason,  of  that  hidden  road.  A 
small  hut  crushed  into  the  side  of  the  sheer  cliff. 
A  dugout  of  logs,  and  thatch,  and  mud  plaster.  A 
hut  with  one  fronting  door,  and  a  parchment  window  ; 
a  hut  such  as  might  have  belonged  to  some  old- 
time  trapper,  who  had  found  it  necessary  to  set  his 
home  somewhere  secure  from  the  attacks  of  maraud- 
ing Indians. 

And  what  a  strategic  position  it  was !  One  ap- 
proach to  be  barred  and  barricaded  ;  one  laborious 
road  which  the  besieged  could  sweep  with  his  rifle-fire, 
and  beat  back  almost  any  horde  of  Indians  in  the  coun- 
try. He  led  his  horse  on  toward  the  hut.  The  door 
was  closed,  and  the  parchment  of  the  windov/  hid  the 
interior. 

The  outside  appearance  showed  good  repair.  He 
examined  it  critically.  He  walked  round  its  three 
sides,  and,  as  he  came  to  the  far  side  of  it,  and  thought- 


i88  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

fully  took  in  the  method  of  its  construction,  he  suddenly 
became  aware  of  another  example  of  the  old  trappers 
cunning.  The  cliff  that  rose  sheer  up  for  another  two 
or  three  hundred  feet  slightly  sloped  backward  at  the 
extremity  of  the  shelf,  and  here  had  been  cut  a  rude 
sort  of  staircase  in  the  gray  limestone  of  which  it  was 
composed.  There  were  the  steps,  dangerous  enough, 
and  dizzying  to  look  at,  rising  up,  up,  to  the  summit 
above.  He  ventured  tc  the  brink  where  they  began, 
but  instantly  drew  back  Below  was  a  sheer  drop  of 
perhaps  five  hundred  feet. 

Turning  his  eyes  upw^ard,  his  fancy  conjured  up  a 
picture  of  the  poor  wretch,  hunted  and  besieged  by  the 
howling  Indians,  starving  perhaps,  creeping  at  dead  of 
night  from  the  little  fort  he  had  held  so  long  and  so 
valiantly  against  such  overwhelming  odds,  and,  in  des- 
peration, availing  himself  of  his  one  and  only  possible 
escape.  Step  by  step,  he  followed  him,  in  imagination, 
up  the  awful  cliff,  clinging  for  dear  life  with  fingers 
worn  and  lacerated  by  the  grinding  stone.  Weary 
and  exhausted,  he  seemed  to  see  him  draw  near  the 
top.  Then  a  slip,  one  slip  of  his  tired  feet,  and  no 
hold  upon  the  limestone  with  his  hands  would  have 
power  to  save  him.     Down,  down 

He  turned  back  to  the  hut  with  a  sick  feeling  in  his 
stomach.  Securing  his  mare  to  an  iron  ring,  which 
he  found  driven  firmly  into  one  of  the  logs,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  investigate  further.  The  door  was  held  by 
a  common  latch,  and  yielded  at  once  when  he  raised  it. 
It  opened  inward,  and  he  waited  after  throwing  it  open. 
He  had  a  strange  feeling  of  trespass  in  thus  intruding 


A  WILD  RIDE  189 

upon  what  might  prove  to  be  the  home  of  some  fur- 
hunter. 

No  sound  followed  the  opening  of  the  door.  He 
waited  listening  ;  then  at  last  he  stepped  forward  and 
announced  himself  with  a  sharp  **  Hello  1 " 

His  only  answer  was  the  echo  of  his  greeting. 
Without  more  ado  he  stepped  in.  For  a  moment  the 
sharpness  of  the  contrast  of  light  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  see  anything  ;  but  presently  he  became  used 
to  the  twilight  of  the  interior,  and  looked  about  him 
curiously.  It  was  his  first  acquaintance  with  a  dugout, 
nor  was  he  impressed  with  the  comfort  it  displayed. 
The  place  was  dirty,  unkempt,  and  his  dream  of  the 
picturesque,  old-time  trapper  died  out  entirely.  He 
beheld  walls  bare  of  all  decoration,  simply  a  rough 
plastering  of  mud  over  the  lateral  legs  ;  a  frowsy  cup- 
board, made  out  of  a  huge  packing-case,  containing  odd 
articles  for  housekeeping  purposes.  There  were  the 
fragments  of  two  chairs  lying  in  a  heap  beside  a  dis- 
membered table,  which  stood  only  by  the  aid  of  two 
legs  and  the  centre  post  which  supported  the  pitch  of 
the  roof.  A  rough  trestle-bed  occupied  the  far  end  of 
the  hut,  and  in  shape  and  make  it  reminded  him  of  his 
own  bed  in  the  bunkhouse.  But  there  the  resemblance 
ended,  for  the  palliasse  was  of  brown  sacking,  and  a 
pair  of  dull-red  blankets  were  tumbled  in  a  heap  upon 
its  foot.  One  more  blanket  of  similar  hue  was  lying 
upon  the  floor  ;  but  this  was  only  a  torn  fragment  that 
had  possibly  served  as  a  carpet,  or,  to  judge  by  other 
fragments  lying  about,  had  been  used  to  patch  shirts, 
or  even  the  well-worn  bedclothes. 


I90  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

It  was  a  squalid  hovel,  and  reeked  of  the  earth  out 
of  which  it  was  dug.  Beyond  the  bedding,  the  red 
blankets,  and  the  few  plates  and  pots  in  the  packing- 
case  cupboard,  there  was  not  a  sign  of  the  owner,  and 
Tresler  found  himself  wondering  as  to  what  manner  of 
man  it  was  who  could  have  endured  such  meanness. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  probably  the  very  trapper 
he  had  thought  of  had  left  his  eyrie  in  peace  and  taken 
his  belongings  with  him,  leaving  behind  him  only  those 
things  which  were  worthless. 

A  few  minutes  satisfied  his  curiosity.  Probably  his 
ride,  and  a  natural  desire  to  return  to  the  ranch  as 
quickly  as  possible,  had  dulled  the  keenness  of  his 
faculties  of  observation.  Certain  it  is  that,  squalid  as 
the  place  was,  there  was  an  air  of  recent  habitation 
about  it  that  he  missed.  He  took  it  for  a  deserted 
shack  merely,  and  gave  it  no  second  thought. 

He  passed  out  into  the  daylight  with  an  air  of  relief ; 
he  had  seen  quite  enough.  The  Lady  Jezebel  wel- 
comed him  with  an  agitated  snort ;  she  too  seemed 
anxious  to  get  away.  He  led  her  down  the  shelving 
trail  again.  The  descent  was  as  laborious  as  the  ascent 
had  been,  and  much  more  dangerous.  But  it  was  ac- 
complished at  last,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  mounted 
the  now  docile  animal,  who  cantered  off  as  amiably  as 
though  she  had  never  done  anything  wrong  in  her  life. 

And  as  he  rode  away  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the 
incidents  of  that  morning  ;  he  went  again  over  the 
scenes  in  which  he  had  taken  part,  the  scenes  he  had 
witnessed.  He  thought  of  his  brief  battle  with  Jake,  of 
Diane  and  Joe,  of  his  interview  with  Fyles.     All  these 


A  WILD  RIDE  191 

things  were  of  such  vital  import  to  him  that  he  had  no 
thought  for  anything  else  ;  even  the  log  bridge  span- 
ning the  river  could  not  draw  from  him  any  kind  of  in- 
terest. Had  his  mind  been  less  occupied,  he  might 
have  paused  to  ask  himself  a  question  about  the  things 
he  had  just  seen.  He  might  even  have  wondered  how 
the  logs  of  that  dugout  had  been  hauled  to  the  shelf 
on  which  it  stood.  Certain  it  was  that  they  must  have 
been  carried  there,  for  there  was  not  a  single  tree  upon 
the  hillside,  only  a  low  bush.  And  the  bridge  ;  surely 
it  was  the  work  of  many  hands.  And  why  was  it  there 
on  a  disused  trail  ? 

But  he  had  no  thought  for  such  questions  just  then. 
He  bustled  the  mare  and  hurried  on. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

A  WEEK  passed  before  Tresler  was  again  brought 
into  contact  with  Jake.  When  he  got  back  from  his 
ride  into  the  foot-hills,  the  *'  broncho-busting"  carnival 
was  in  full  swing ;  but  he  was  fated  to  have  no  share  in 
it.  Jacob  Smith  was  waiting  for  him  with  a  message 
from  Julian  Marbolt ;  his  orders  were  peremptory.  He 
was  to  leave  at  once  for  Whitewater,  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  the  reception  of  the  young  horses  now  being 
broken  for  the  troops.  The  rancher  made  his  meaning 
quite  plain.  And  Tresler  was  quick  to  understand 
that  this  was  simply  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  until 
such  time  as  Jake's  temper  had  cooled  and  the  danger 
of  a  further  rupture  was  averted. 

He  received  his  instructions  without  comment.  It 
was  rough  on  his  mare,  but  as  the  Lady  Jezebel  was 
fond  of  giving  hard  knocks,  she  must  not  mind  if  she 
received  a  similar  treatment  in  return.  And  so  he 
went,  much  to  the  disquiet  of  Joe  Nelson,  and  with  a 
characteristic  admonition  from  Arizona.  That  individ- 
ual had  just  finished  thrashing  a  bull-headed  young 
broncho  with  a  quirt,  because  he  wouldn't  move  from 
the  spot  where  he  had  been  saddled,  when  Tresler 
came  up.  The  lean  man  was  breathing  hard  as  he 
rested,  and  he  panted  his  farewell  huskily. 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       193 

"  Kep  y'r  gun  good  an'  handy,"  he  said.  **  Et's 
mighty  good  company,  if  et  don't  git  gassin'  wi'out 
you  ast  it  a  question." 

In  this  case,  however,  there  was  no  need  for  the  ad- 
vice. The  journey  was  a  peaceful  reUef  after  the  storms 
of  Mosquito  Bend.  Tresler  transacted  his  business,  the 
horses  arrived,  were  delivered  to  the  authorities,  and  he 
witnessed  the  military  methods  of  dealing  with  their  re- 
mounts, which  was  a  w^onderful  example  of  patience 
and  moderation.  Then  he  set  out  for  the  ranch  again, 
in  company  with  Raw  Harris  and  Lew  Cawley — the 
two  men  who  had  brought  the  band  into  the  town. 

His  return  to  Mosquito  Bend  was  very  different  from 
his  first  coming.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  a  lifetime  had 
passed  since  he  had  been  ridiculed  about  his  riding- 
breeches  by  all  who  met  him.  So  much  had  happened 
since  then.  Now  he  was  admittedly  a  full-blown 
prairie  man,  with  much  to  learn,  perhaps,  but  garbed 
like  the  other  cowpunchers  with  him,  in  moleskin  and 
buckskin,  Mexican  spurs,  and  slouch  hat ;  his  gun-belt 
slantwise  on  his  hips,  and  his  leather  chapps  creaking 
as  he  rode.  He  was  no  longer  "  the  guy  with  the 
pants  "  he  had  been  when  he  first  entered  the  land  of 
cattle,  and  somehow  he  felt  glad  at  the  metamorphosis. 
It  brought  him  nearer  to  the  land,  which,  with  all  its 
roughness,  he  felt  to  be  the  true  life  for  him. 

It  was  evening  ;  the  sun  had  not  yet  set,  but  it  was 
dipping  low  over  the  western  hills,  casting  long  shadow^s 
from  behind  the  gorgeous-colored  heat  clouds.  Its 
dying  lustre  shone  like  a  fire  of  molten  matter  through 
^e  tree-tops,  and  lit  the  forest-crowned  hills,  uatil  the 


194  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

densest  foliage  appeared  like  the  most  delicate  fret« 
work  of  Nature's  own  cutting.  And  in  the  shadow 
cast  by  the  hilly  background  there  nestled  the  ranch, 
overlooking  its  vast,  wide-spreading  pastures  of  suc- 
culent grass. 

Yes,  Tresler  was  glad  to  be  back  to  it  all,  no  matter 
what  the  future  might  hold  for  him.  He  had  missed 
his  companions  ;  he  had  missed  Arizona,  with  his  fierce, 
untamed  spirit ;  he  had  missed  Joe,  with  his  quaint  face 
and  staunch  heart ;  but  more  than  all,  he  had  longed  to 
get  back  to  Diane,  looking  forward  to  the  greeting  she 
would  extend  him  as  only  a  lover  can.  But  there  was 
something  more  in  his  longing  than  that.  Every  day 
he  had  been  away  he  had  fretted  and  chafed  at  the 
thought  of  what  might  be  happening  to  her.  Joe  w^as 
there  to  send  him  word,  but  even  this  was  insufficient. 
There  had  been  times  when  he  felt  that  he  could  not 
stay  to  finish  the  w^ork  put  upon  him  ;  there  had  been 
times  w^hen  his  patience  utterly  gave  way  before  the 
nervous  tension  of  his  feelings,  and  he  had  been  ready 
to  saddle  his  mare  and  offer  her  a  race  against  time 
back  to  the  girl  he  loved. 

His  feelings  were  stirred  to  their  very  depths  as  he 
came  up  the  trail  from  the  ford.  He  had  no  words  for 
either  of  his  companions,  nor  did  they  seem  inclined 
for  speech.  They  passed  the  corrals  in  silence  and 
reached  the  bunkhouse,  w^here  several  of  their  com- 
rades greeted  them  with  a  nod  or  a  casual  "  Hello  !  " 
They  might  have  just  returned  from  a  day's  work  on 
the  range  for  all  the  interest  displayed  at  their  coming. 
But,  then,  effusiveness  is  no  part  of  the  cowboy's  man- 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       195 

ner.  There  is  rarely  a  **  good-bye  "  on  the  prairie,  un- 
less it  is  when  a  comrade  "  hits  the  one-way  trail. '^ 
Even  then  it  is  more  often  a  quiet  "  s'long,"  without 
any  demonstrativeness,  but  which  may  mean  far  more 
than  a  flood  of  tears. 

Jake  was  at  his  door  when  Tresler  rode  over  to  re- 
port. He  was  still  bearing  the  marks  of  the  quirt  on 
his  face,  and  the  author  of  them  beheld  his  handiwork 
with  some  qualms  of  regret.  However,  there  was  none 
of  this  in  his  manner  as  he  made  his  report.  And, 
much  to  his  astonishment,  Jake  displayed  a  cold 
civility.  He  surpassed  himself.  Not  a  sneer  or  sar- 
casm passed  his  lips.  The  report  done,  he  went  on  to 
the  barn  and  stabled  his  mare  for  the  night.  Then  he 
passed  on  toward  his  quarters. 

Before  he  reached  his  destination,  however,  he  was 
joined  by  Nelson.  The  little  man  had  evidently  been 
waiting  for  him. 

-  Well  ?  " 

There  was  no  greeting.  Tresler  put  his  monosyllabic 
question  at  once.  And  the  choreman  responded  with- 
out hesitation. 

*'  She's  bin  astin'  fer  you  three  times.  When  wus 
you  gittin'  around  agin  ?  I  guessed  I  didn't  know  fer 
sure.  She  wus  kind  o'  worrited,  I  reckon."  He  paused, 
and  his  twisted  face  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  fore- 
man's hut.  "  She  wus  weepin'  last  night,"  he  went  on. 
Then  he  paused  again,  and  his  shrewd  eyes  came 
back  to  Tresler 's  face.  **  She's  bin  weepin'  to-day," 
he  said,  with  a  peculiar  look  of  expectation  in  his 
manner. 


196  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"What's  the  trouble?"  The  question  came  short 
and  sharp. 

"  Mebbe  she's  lonesome." 

"  That's  not  it ;  you've  got  other  reasons." 

Joe  looked  away  again.  "  Jake*s  bin  around  some, 
But  I  guess  she's  lonesome  too.  She's  ast  fer  you." 
The  little  man's  tone  was  full  of  obstinacy. 

Tresler  understood  his  drift.  If  Joe  had  his  way 
he'd  march  Diane  and  him  oE  to  the  nearest  parson 
with  no  more  delay  than  was  required  to  saddle  two 
horses. 

"I'm  going  to  see  her  to-night,"  Tresler  replied 
quietly.  Then,  as  he  saw  Jake  appear  again  in  the  door- 
way, he  said,  "  You'd  better  pass  on  now.  Maybe  I'll 
see  you  afterward." 

And  Joe  moved  ^ff  without  another  word.  Jake 
had  seen  them  together,  but  he  was  unsuspicious.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  scars  on  his  face,  and  of  some- 
thing else  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  their  meeting. 
And  his  thoughts  made  him  smile  unpleasantly. 

If  Tresler's  first  greeting  had  been  indifferent,  his 
reception,  as  he  came  over  to  the  bunkhouse  now,  was 
far  from  being  so.  Talk  flowed  freely,  inquiries  hailed 
him  on  every  side ;  jests  passed,  sometimes  coarse, 
sometimes  subtle,  but  always  cordial.  Ail  the  men  on 
the  ranch  had  a  fair  good-will  for  him.  "  Tenderfoot " 
he  might  be,  but  they  approved  his  grit,  and  with 
frontiersmen  grit  is  all  that  matters. 

After  supper  he  separated  himself  from  his  compan- 
ions under  pretext  of  cleaning  his  saddlery.  He  hauled 
a  bucket  of  water,  and  went  down  to  the  lower  corrals 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       197 

and  disposed  his  accoutrements  for  the  operation,  but 
he  did  no  work  until  he  saw  Arizona  approaching. 
That  unkempt  personage  loafed  up  in  a  sort  of  man- 
ner that  plainly  said  he  didn't  care  if  he  came  or  not. 
But  Tresler  knew  this  was  only  his  manner.  The 
cleaning  of  the  saddle  now  proceeded  with  assiduity, 
and  Arizona  sat  himself  down  on  a  fallen  log  and  spat 
tobacco-juice  around  him.  At  last  he  settled  himself, 
nursing  one  knee  in  his  clasped  hands,  and  spoke  with 
that  air  of  absolute  conviction  which  always  character- 
ized him. 

"  Say,  Jake's  grittin'  his  teeth  tight,"  he  said.  Then, 
as  an  afterthought,  "  But  he  ain't  showin'  'em." 

Tresler  looked  up  and  studied  the  cadaverous  face 
before  him. 

"  You  mean — about " 

"  Wal,  I  wus  jest  figgerin'  on  how  you  wus  standin*. 
Seems  likely  you're  standin'  lookin'  east  wi'  a  feller  due 
west  who's  got  the  drop  on  yer  ;  which,  to  my  reck- 
onin',  ain't  as  safe  as  handin'  trac's  to  a  lodge  o' 
Cheyenne  neches  on  the  war-path." 

"  You  think  that  Jake's  quietly  getting  the  drop  on 
me?" 

"  Wal,  I  allow  ef  I  wus  Jake  I'd  be  gettin'  a'mighty 
busy  that  way.  An'  I  kind  o'  calc'late  that's  wot  he's 
doin'." 

Tresler  smiled  and  returned  to  his  work.  "  And  what 
form  do  you  think  his  *  drop  '  will  take  ?  "  he  asked, 
without  looking  up. 

"  I  ain't  gifted  wi'  imagination.  Y'  ain't  never  sure 
which  way  a  blind  mule's  likely  ter  kick.     Jake's  in  the 


198  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

natur'  of  a  blind  mule.  What  I  sez  is,  watch  him. 
Don't  look  east  when  he's  west.  Say,"  he  went  on,  in 
a  tone  of  disgust,  *'  you  Noo  Yorkers  make  me  sick. 
Ther'  ain't  nothin'  ter  hittin'  a  feller  an'  makin'  him 
sore.  It  on'y  gives  him  time  to  git  mad.  A  gun's 
handy  an'  sudden.  On'y  you  need  a  goodish  bore  ef 
you're  goin'  ter  perf  rate  the  hide  of  a  guy  like  Jake 
Pshaw  !  "  he  finished  up  witheringly,  ''  you  fellers  ain't 
got  shut  o'  last  century." 

*'  Maybe  we  haven't,"  Tresler  retorted,  with  a  good- 
humored  laugh  ;  **  but  your  enterprise  has  carried  you 
so  far  ahead  of  time  that  you've  overlapped.  I  tell 
you,  man,  you're  back  in  the  savage  times.  You're 
groping  in  the  prehistoric  periods — Jurassic,  Eocene,  or 
some  such." 

''  Guess  I  ain't  familiar  wi'  Jurassics  an'  Eocenes," 
Arizona  replied  gravely.  **  Mebbe  that  was  before  my 
time  ;  but  ef  you're  speakin'  o'  them  fellers  as  clumped 
each  other  over  the  head  wi'  stone  clubs,  I  'low 5  they 
had  more  savee  than  a  Noo  Yorker,  ef  they  wus  kind 
o'  primitive  in  the'r  habits." 

Tresler  accepted  the  argument  in  the  spirit  in  which 
it  was  put  forward.  It  was  no  use  getting  angry. 
Arizona  was  peculiar,  but  he  had  reason  to  consider 
him,  in  his  own  parlance,  "  a  decent  citizen."  He  went 
on  with  his  work  steadily  while  the  cowpuncher  grunted 
out  his  impatience.  Then  at  last,  as  though  it  were 
forced  from  him,  the  latter  jerked  out  a  more  modified 
opinion  of  the  civilized  American.  It  seemed  as  though 
Tresler's  very  silence  had  drawn  it  from  him. 

**  Wal,"    he    said   grumblingly,    *'  mebbe   you    Noo 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       199 

Yorkers  has  points — mebbe,  I  sez."  Then  he  dismissed 
the  subject  with  an  impatient  shrug  of  his  drooping 
shoulders,  and  went  off  at  a  fresh  angle.  "Say,  I  wus 
kind  o'  wonderin'  some  'bout  that  flea-bitten  shadder, 
Joe  Nelson.  He's  amazin'  queer  stayin'  'round  here. 
He's  foxin'  some,  too.  Y'  ain't  never  sure  when  you're 
like  to  strike  them  chewed-up  features  o'  his  after  night- 
fall. Y'  see  he's  kind  o'  quit  drinkin' — leastways,  he's 
frekent  sober.  Mebbe  he  can't  sleep  easy.  Ther's 
suthin'  worritin'  his  head,  sure.  He  'pears  ter  me 
desp'rate  restless — kind  o'  like  an  old  hoss  wi'  the  bush- 
ticks.  Et  don't  fit  noways  wi'  the  Joe  Nelson  I  oncet 
knew.  Mebbe  it's  religion.  Ther'  ain't  nuthin'  like 
religion  fer  makin'  things  oneasy  in  your  head.  Joe 
alius  had  a  strain  o'  religion  in  him." 

The  Southerner  gazed  gloomily  at  the  saddle  on  the 
fence,  while  he  munched  his  tobacco  in  thoughtful 
silence. 

**  I  don't  think  Joe's  got  religion,"  said  Tresler,  with 
a  smile.  "  He's  certainly  worried,  and  with  reason. 
Jake's  got  his  knife  into  him.  No,  I  think  Joe's  got  a 
definite  object  in  staying  around  here,  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he's  clever  enough  to  attain  it,  whatever  it  is." 

''That  sounds  more  like  Joe,"  assented  the  other, 
cheering  up  at  the  suggestion.  "  Still,  Joe  alius  had  a 
strain  o'  religion  in  him,"  he  persisted.  "  I  see  him 
drop  a  man  in  his  tracks  oncet,  an'  cry  like  a  noo-born 
babby  'cos  ther'  wa'n't  a  chu'ch  book  in  Lone  Brake 
Settlement,  an'  he'd  forgot  his  prayers,  an'  had  ter  let 
the  feller  lie  around  fer  the  coyotes,  instead  o'  buryin' 
him  decent.     That's  a  whiles  ago.     Guess  Lone  Brake's 


200  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

changed  some.  They  do  say  ther's  a  Bible  ther'  no\i 
Kind  o'  roped  safe  to  the  desk  in  the  meetin'-house,  so 
the  boys  can't  git  foolin'  wi'  it.  Yup,"  he  went  on, 
with  an  abstracted  look  in  his  expressive  eyes,  "  relig- 
ion's a  mighty  powerful  thing  when  it  gits  around. 
Most  like  the  fever.  I  kind  o'  got  touched  wi'  it  down 
Texas  way  on  the  Mexican  border.  Guess  et  wer'  t' 
do  wi'  a  lady  I  favored  at  the  time  ;  but  that  ain't  here 
nor  there.  Guess  most  o'  the  religion  comes  along  o' 
the  wimmin  folk.     'Longside  o'  wimmin  men  is  muck." 

Tresler  nodded  his  appreciation  of  the  sentiment. 

"  Gettin'  religion's  most  like  goin'  on  the  bust.  Hits 
yer  sudden,  an'  yer  don't  git  ofi'n  it  easy.  The  signs  is 
alius  the  same.  You  kind  o'  worry  when  folks  gits 
blasphemin',  an'  you  don't  feel  like  takin'  a  hand  to 
help  'em  out.  You  hate  winnin'  at  *  draw,'  an'  talks 
easy  when  a  feller  holds  *  fours '  too  frekent.  An'  your 
liquor  turns  on  your  stummick.  They're  all  signs,"  he 
added  expansively,  "  When  a  feller  gits  like  that  he'd 
best  git  right  off  to  the  meetin'-house.  That's  how  I 
tho't." 

'•And  you  went?" 

**  That's  so.  Say,  an'  it  ain't  easy.  I  'lows  my 
nerve's  pretty  right  fer  most  things,  but  when  you  git 
monkeyin-  wi'  religion  it's  kind  o'  different.  'Sides, 
ther's  alius  fellers  ter  choke  you  oiT.  Nassy  Wilkes, 
the  s'loon-keeper,  he'd  had  religion  bad  oncet,  tho'  I 
'lows  he'd  fergot  most  o't  sence  he'd  been  in  the  s'loon 
biz ;  he  kind  o'  skeered  me  some.  Sed  they  used  a 
deal  o'  water,  an'  mostly  got  ducking  greenhorns  in  it. 
Wal,  I  put  ha'f  a  dozen  slugs  o'  whisky  down  my  neck 


THE  TliillL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       20l 

— which  he  sed  would  prevent  me  gittiii'  cold,  seein* 
water  wa'n't  in  my  line — an'  hit  the  trail  fer  the 
meetin'." 

"  What  denomination  ?  "  asked  Tresler,  curiously. 
''What  religion?"  he  added,  for  the  man's  better  un- 
derstanding. 

"Wal,  I  don't  rightly  knows,"  Arizona  went  on 
gravely.  ''  I  kind  o'  fancy  the  boys  called  'em  *  dip- 
pers ' ;  but  I  guess  this  yarn  don't  call  fer  no  argy- 
ment,"  he  added,  with  a  suspicion  of  his  volcanic 
temper  rising  at  the  frequent  interruptions.  Then,  as 
the  other  kept  silence,  he  continued  in  his  earnest 
way,  **  Guess  that  meetin' -house  wus  mostly  empty. 
Ther'  wus  one  feller  ther'  a'ready  when  I  come.  He 
wus  playin'  toons  on  a  kind  o'  'cordian  he  worked  wi' 
his  feet " 

"  Harmonium,"  suggested  Tresler,  diffidently. 

**  That's  it.  I  could  'a'  wep'  as  I  looked  at  that  feller, 
he  wus  that  noble.  He'd  long  ha'r  greased  reg'lar,  an' 
wore  swaller-tails.  Guess  he  wus  workin'  that  concer- 
tina-thing like  mad  ;  an'  he  jest  looked  right  up  at  the 
ceilin'  as  if  he  wer*  crazy  fer  some  feller  to  come  'long 
an'  stop  him  'fore  he  bust  up  the  whole  shootin'  match." 

"  Looked  inspired,"  Tresler  suggested. 

"  Mebbe  that's  wot.  Still,  I  wus  glad  I  come.  Then 
the  folks  come  along,  an'  the  deac'n ;  an'  the  feller  quit. 
Guess  he  wus  plumb  scart  o'  that  deac'n,  tho'  I  'lows 
he  wus  a  harmless-lookin'  feller 'nough.  I  see  him 
clear  sheer  out  o'  range  on  sight,  which  made  me 
think  he  wus  a  mean-sperrited  cuss  anyway. 

"Yes,  I  guess  I  wus  glad  I'd  come ;  I  felt  that  easy 


202  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

an'  wholesome.  Say,  the  meetin's  dead  gut  stuE 
Yes,  sir — dead  gut.  I  felt  I'd  never  handle  a  gun 
again ;  I  couldn't  'a'  blasphemed  'longside  a  babby  ef 
you'd  give  me  ten  dollars  to  try.  An'  I  guess  ther' 
wa'n't  no  dirty  Greaser  as  I  couldn't  ha'  loved  like  a 
brother,  I  wus  that  soothed,  an'  peaceful,  an'  saft  feelin'. 
I  jest  took  a  chaw  o'  plug,  an'  sat  back  an'  watched 
them  folks  lookin'  so  noble  as  they  come  along  in  the'r 
funeral  kids  an'  white  chokers.  Then  the  deac'n  got 
good  an'  goin',  an'  I  got  right  on  to  the  *  A-mens,* 
tetchin'  'em  that  easy  I  wished  I'd  never  done  nothin' 
else  all  my  life.     I  set  ther'  feelin'  real  happy." 

Arizona  paused,  and  his  wild  eyes  softened  as  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  those  few  happy  moments  of  his 
chequered  career.  Then  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  re- 
gret and  went  on  — 

"  But  it  wa'n't  to  last.  No,  sir,  religion  ain't  fer  the 
likes  o'  me.  Ye  can't  play  the  devil  an'  mix  wi'  angels. 
They're  bound  to  out  you.  Et's  on'y  natteral.  Guess 
I'd  bin  chawin'  some,  an'  ther'  wa'n't  no  spit  boxes. 
That's  wher'  the  trouble  come.  Ther'  wus  a  raw- 
boned  cuss  wi'  his  missis  settin'  on  the  bench  front  o' 
me,  an'  I  guess  her  silk  fixin's  got  mussed  up  wi* 
t'bacca  juice  someways.  I  see  her  look  down  on  the 
floor,  then  she  kind  o'  gathered  her  skirts  aroun'  her 
an'  got  wipin'  wi'  her  han'k'chief.  Then  she  looks 
aroun'  at  me,  an',  me  feelin'  friendly,  I  kind  o'  smiled 
at  her,  not  knowin'  she  wus  riled.  Then  she  got 
whisperin'  to  her  wall-eyed  galoot  of  a  man,  an'  he 
turns  aroun'  smart,  an'  he  sez,  wi'  a  scowl,  sez  he. 
The  meetin'-house  ain't  no  place  fer  chawin'  hunks  o' 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       203 

plug,  mister  ;  wher'  wus  you  dragged  from  ? '  Ther' 
wus  a  nasty  glint  to  his  eye.  But  ef  he  wus  goin'  to 
ferget  we  wus  in  the  meetin'-house  I  meant  showin' 
him  I  wa'n't.  So  I  answers  him  perlite.  Sez  I,  wi'  a 
smile,  '  Sir,'  sez  I,  '  I  take  it  we  ain't  from  the  same  hog 
trough.'  I  see  he  took  it  mean,  but  as  a  feller  got  up 
from  behind  an'  shouts  '  Silence,'  I  guessed  things 
would  pass  over.  But  that  buzzard-headed  mule  wus 
cantankerous.  He  beckons  the  other  feller  over  an' 
tells  him  I  wus  chawin',  an'  the  other  feller  sez  to  me  : 
*  You  can't  chaw  here,  mussin'  up  the  lady's  fixin's.' 

**  Wal,  bein'  on'y  human,  I  got  riled,  but,  not  wishin^ 
to  raise  a  racket,  I  spat  my  chew  out.  I  don't  know 
how  it  come,  but,  I  guess,  bein'  riled,  I  jest  didn't  take 
notice  wher'  I  dumped  it,  till,  kind  o'  sudden-like,  I  found 
I  wus  inspectin'  the  vitals  o'  that  side-show-freak's  gun. 
Sez  he,  in  a  nasty  tone,  which  kind  o'  interrupted  the 
deac'n's  best  langwidge,  an'  made  folks  ferget  to  fetch 

the  *  A-men  '  right,  *  You  dog-gone  son  of  a  hog ' 

But  I  didn't  wait  fer  no  more.  I  sees  then  what's 
amiss.  My  chaw  had  located  itself  on  the  lady's  ankle 
— which  I  'lows  wus  shapely — which  she'd  left  showin' 
in  gatherin'  her  fixin's  aroun'  her.  I  see  that,  an'  I  see 
his  stovepipe  hat  under  the  seat.  I  jest  grabbed  that 
hat  sudden,  an'  'fore  he'd  had  time  to  drop  his  hammer 
I'd  mushed  it  down  on  his  head  so  he  couldn't  see. 
Then  I  ups,  wi'  the  drop  on  him,  an'  I  sez :  '  Come 
right  along  an*  we'll  settle  like  honest  cit'zens.'  An' 
wi'  that  I  backed  out  o'  the  meetin'.  Wal,  I  guess  he 
wus  clear  grit.  We  settled.  I  'lows  he  wus  a  dandy 
at  the  bizness  end  o'  a  gun,  an'  I  walked  lame  fer  a 


204  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

month  after.  But  ther'  was  a  onattached  widdy  in  that 
town  when  we'd  done." 

"  You  killed  him  ?  "  Tresler  asked. 

"  Wal,  I  didn't  wait  to  ast  no  details.  Guess  I  got 
busy  fergittin'  religion  right  off.  Mebbe  ther's  a  proper 
time  fer  ev'rything,  an'  I  don't  figger  it's  reas'nable 
argyfyin'  even  wi'  a  deac'n  when  his  swaller-tail 
pocket's  bustin'  wi'  shootin'  materials.  No,  sir,  guess 
religion  ain't  no  use  fer  me." 

Arizona  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  regret.  Tresler 
gathered  up  his  saddle  and  bridle.  Once  or  twice  he 
had  been  ready  to  explode  with  laughter  during  his 
companion's  story,  but  the  man's  evident  sincerity  and 
earnestness  had  held  him  quiet ;  had  made  him  realize 
that  the  story  w^as  in  the  nature  of  a  confidence,  and 
was  told  in  no  spirit  of  levity.  And,  somehow,  now,  at 
the  end  of  it,  he  felt  sorry  for  this  wandering  outcast, 
with  no  future  and  only  a  disreputable  past.  He  knew 
there  was  far  more  real  good  in  him  than  bad,  and  yet 
there  seemed  no  possible  chance  for  him.  He  would 
go  on  as  he  was  ;  he  would  "  punch  "  cattle  so  long  as 
he  could  find  employment.  And  w'hen  chance,  or 
some  other  matter,  should  plunge  him  on  his  beam  ends, 
he  would  take  to  what  most  cowboys  in  those  days 
took  to  when  they  fell  upon  evil  days — cattle-stealing. 
And,  probably,  end  his  days  dancing  at  the  end  of  a 
lariat,  suspended  from  the  bough  of  some  stout  old  tree. 

As  he  moved  to  go,  Arizona  rose  abruptly  from  his 
seat,  and  stayed  him  wuth  a  gesture. 

"  Guess  I  got  side-tracked  yarnin'.  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  a  few  things  that's  bin  doin'  sence  you've  bin  away." 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       205 

Tresler  stood. 

"  Say,"  the  other  went  on  at  once,  "  ther's  suthin* 
doin'  thick  'tween  Jake  an'  bHnd  hulks.  Savee  ?  I 
heerd  Jake  an'  Miss  Dianny  gassin'  at  the  barn  one 
day.  She  wus  ther'  gittin*  her  bit  of  a  shoe  fixed  by 
Jacob — him  alius  fixin'  her  shoes  for  her  when  they 
needs  it — an'  Jake  come  along  and  made  her  go  right 
in  an'  look  at  the  new  driver  he  wus  breakin'  fer  hen 
Guess  they  didn't  see  me,  I  wus  up  in  the  loft  puttin^ 
hay  down.  When  they  come  in  I  wus  standin'  takin'  a 
chaw,  an'  Jake's  voice  hit  me  squar'  in  the  lug,  an'  I 
didn't  try  not  to  hear  what  he  said.  An'  I  soon 
felt  good  that  I'd  held  still.  Sez  he,  '  You  best 
come  out  wi'  me  an'  learn  to  drive  her.  She's  dead 
easy.'  An'  Miss  Dianny  sez,  sez  she,  '  I'll  drive  her 
when  she's  thoroughly  broken  ! '  An'  he  sez,  *  You 
mean  you  ain't  goin'  out  wi'  me  ?  '  An'  she  answ- ers 
short-like,  *  No.'  Then  sez  he,  mighty  riled,  *  You 
shan't  go  out  with  that  mare  by  yourself  to  meet  no 
Treslers,'  sez  he.  '  I'll  promise  you  that.  See  ?  Your 
father's  on  to  your  racket,  I've  seen  to  that.  He 
knows  you  an'  him's  bin  sparkin',  an'  he's  real  mad. 
That's  by  the  way,'  he  sez.  *  What  I  want  to  tell  you's 
this.  You're  goin'  to  marry  me,  sure.  See?  An' 
your  father's  goin'  to  make  you.'  An'  Miss  Dianny 
jest  laffed  right  out  at  him.  But  her  laff  wa'n't  easy. 
An'  sez  she,  wi'  mock  'nuff  to  make  a  man  feel  as  mean 
as  rank  sow-belly,  '  Father  wall  never  let  me  marry, 
and  you  know  it'  An'  Jake  stands  quiet  a  minnit. 
Then  I  guess  his  voice  jest  rasped  right  up  to  me 
through  that  hay-hole.     '  I'm  goin'  to  make  him,'  sez 


2o6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

he,  vicious-like.  '  A  tidy  ranch,  this,  eh  ?  Wal,  I  tell 
you  his  money  an'  his  stock  an'  his  land  won't  help 
him  a  cent's  worth  ef  he  don't  give  you  to  me.  I  ken 
make  him  lick  my  boots  if  I  so  choose.  See  ?  '  Ther' 
v/a'n't  another  word  spoke.  An'  I  heerd  'em  move 
clear.  Then  I  dropped,  an'  pushin'  my  head  down 
through  the  hay-hole,  I  see  that  Jake's  goin'  out  by 
hisself.  Miss  Dianny  had  gone  out  clear  ahead,  an' 
wus  talkin'  to  Jacob." 

**  What  do  you  think  it  means  ? "  asked  Tresler, 
quietly. 

And  in  a  moment  the  other  shot  off  into  one  of  his 
volcanic  surprises. 

**  I  ain't  calc'latin'  the'r  meanin'.  Say,  Tresler." 
The  man  paused,  and  his  great  rolling  eyes  glanced 
furtively  from  right  to  left.  Then  he  came  close  up 
and  spoke  in  a  harsh  whisper.  "  It's  got  to  be.  He 
ain>  fit  to  live.     This  is  wot  I  wus  thinkin'.     I'll  git 

right  ap  to  his  shack,  an'  I'll  call  him  every  son-of-a 

I  ken  think  of.  See?  He'll  git  riled,  an' — wal,  I  owe 
her  a  debt  o'  grat'tood,  an'  I  can't  never  pay  it  no  other 
ways,  so  I'll  jest  see  my  slug  finds  his  carkis  right, 
'fore  he  does  me  in." 

Arizona  stepped  back  with  an  air  of  triumph.  He 
could  see  no  flaw  in  his  plan.     It  was  splendid,  subtle. 

It  was  the  one  and  only  way  to  settle  all  the  problems 
centering  round  the  foreman.  Thus  he  would  pay  off 
a  whole  shoal  of  debts,  and  rid  Diane  of  Jake  forever. 
And  he  felt  positively  injured  when  Tresler  shook  his 
head. 

"  You   would  pay  her  ill  if  you  did  that,"  he  said 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       207 

gravely.  '*  Jake  was  probably  only  trying  to  frighten 
her.  Besides,  he  is  her  father's  foreman.  The  man  he 
trusts  and  relies  on." 

''  You  ain't  got  no  savee,"  Arizona  broke  out  in  dis- 
gust. "Say,  he  won't  need  no  foreman  when  Jake's 
out  of  the  way.     You'll  marry  the  gal,  an' " 

But  he  got  no  further.  Tresler  interrupted  him 
coldly. 

"  That's  enough,  Arizona.  We  aren't  going  to  discuss 
it  further.  In  the  meantime,  believe  me  that  I  am  wide 
awake  to  my  position,  and  to  Miss  Marbolt's,  and  ready 
to  do  the  best  for  her  in  emergency.  I  must  get  on 
now,  for  I  have  several  things  to  do  before  I  turn  in." 

Arizona  had  no  more  to  say.  He  relapsed  into 
moody  silence,  and,  as  they  moved  away  together, 
Tresler  was  thankful  for  the  freakish  chance  that  had 
made  this  man  come  to  him  with  his  plan  before  putting 
it  into  execution.  It  was  dark  now,  and  as  they  reached 
the  bunkhouse  they  parted.  Tresler  deposited  his 
saddle  at  the  barn,  but  he  did  not  return  to  the  bunk- 
house.  He  meant  to  see  Diane  before  he  turned  in,  by 
hook  or  by  crook. 

He  knew  that  the  time  had  come  when  he  must 
actively  seek  to  help  her.  When  Jake  openly  threat- 
ened her,  and  she  was  found  weeping,  there  was 
certainly  need  of  that  help.  He  was  alarmed,  seriously 
alarmed,  and  yet  he  hardly  knew  what  it  was  he  feared 
most.  He  quite  realized  the  difficulties  that  confronted 
him.  She  had  given  him  no  right  to  interfere  in 
her  affairs.  More,  she  would  have  every  reason  to 
resent  such  interference.     But,  in  spite  of  this,  he  held 


2o8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

to  his  resolve.  It  was  his  love  that  urged  him  on,  hii 
love  that  overbore  his  scruples,  his  gravest  apprehen- 
sions. He  told  himself  that  he  had  the  right  which 
every  man  has.  The  right  to  woo  and  win  for  himseh 
the  love  he  covets.  It  was  for  Diane  to  say  **  yea"  oi 
*'  nay,"  not  her  father.  There  was  no  comfort  she  had 
been  accustomed  to,  or  even  luxury,  that  he  could  not 
give  her.  There  was  no  earthly  reason  why  he  should 
not  try  to  win  her.  He  vividly  called  to  mind  what 
Joe  had  suggested,  and  Arizona's  unfinished  sentence 
rang  in  his  ears,  but  both  suggestions  as  a  basis  of 
hope  he  set  aside  with  a  lover's  egotism.  What  could 
these  men  know  or  understand  of  such  a  matter  ? 

He  had  left  the  barn,  and  his  way  took  him  well  out 
from  the  ranch  yards  in  the  direction  of  the  pinewoods. 
He  remembered  his  walk  on  his  first  night  on  the  ranch. 
and  meant  to  approach  the  back  of  the  blind  man's 
house  by  the  same  route. 

The  calm  of  the  prairie  night  had  settled  upon  the 
ranch.  The  lowing  of  the  cattle  was  hushed,  the  dogs 
were  silent ;  and  the  voices  of  men  and  the  tramp  oi 
horses'  hoofs  v/ere  gone.  There  was  only  the  harsh 
croaking  of  the  frogs  in  the  Mosquito  River  and  the 
cry  of  the  prowling  coyote  to  disturb  the  peace  of  the 
isummer  night. 

And  as  he  walked,  he  felt  for  the  first  time  something 
Di  the  grip  which  sooner  or  later  the  prairie  fixes  upon 
those  who  seriously  seek  life  upon  its  bosom.  Its  real 
fascination  begins  only  when  the  first  stages  of  appren- 
ticeship to  its  methods  and  habits  ara  passing.  The 
vastness  of  its  world,  its  silence,  its  profound  suggestion 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       209 

of  solitude,  which  ever  remains  even  where  townships 
and  settlements  exist,  holds  for  man  a  fascination  which 
appeals  to  the  primitive  senses  and  drags  him  back 
from  the  claims  of  civilization  to  the  old,  old  life.  And 
when  that  call  comes,  and  the  latent  savage  is  roused 
from  the  depths  of  subjection,  is  it  wonder  that  men 
yield  to  what,  after  all,  is  only  the  true  human  instinct 
— the  right  of  the  individual  to  defend  itself  from  all 
attacks  of  foes  ?  No  ;  and  so  Tresler  argued  as  he 
thought  of  the  men  who  were  his  comrades. 

Under  the  influence  of  his  new  feelings  it  seemed  to 
him  that  life  was  so  small  a  thing,  on  which  folks  of 
civilization  set  much  too  high  a  value.  The  ready 
appeal  to  the  gun,  which  seemed  to  be  one  of  the  first 
principles  of  the  frontiersman's  life,  was  already  begin- 
ning to  lose  its  repugnance  for  him.  After  all,  where 
no  arbitration  could  be  enforced,  men  still  had  a  right 
to  defend  self  and  property. 

His  thoughts  wandered  on  through  a  maze  of  argu- 
ment which  convinced  him  notwithstanding  he  told 
himself  that  it  was  all  wrong.  He  told  himself  weakly 
that  his  thoughts  were  the  result  of  the  demoralizing 
influence  of  lawless  associates,  but,  in  spite  of  this,  he 
felt  that  there  was,  in  reality,  something  in  them  of  a 
deeper,  more  abiding  nature. 

He  had  made  the  woodland  fringe,  and  was  working 
his  way  back  toward  the  house.  The  darkness  was 
profound  here.  The  dense,  sad-foliaged  pines  dropped 
their  ponderous  boughs  low  about  him  as  he  passed, 
shielding  him  from  all  possible  view  from  the  ranch. 
And,  even  over  the  underlay  of  brittle  cones,  his  moc- 


2IO  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

casined  feet  bore  him  along  in  a  silent,  ghostly  manner. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  been  forced  to 
steal  upon  anybody's  house  like  a  thief  in  the  night ; 
but  he  felt  that  his  object  was  more  than  sufficient 
justification. 

Now  he  looked  keenly  for  any  sign  of  lights  among 
the  ranch  buildings.  The  bunkhouse  was  in  darkness, 
but  Jake's  house  was  still  lit  up.  How^ever,  this  did 
not  bother  him  much.  He  knew  that  the  foreman  was 
in  the  habit  of  keeping  his  lamp  burning,  even  after 
retiring.  Perhaps  he  read  at  night.  The  idea  amused 
him,  and  he  wondered  what  style  of  literature  might 
appeal  to  a  man  of  Jake's  condition  of  mind.  But  even 
as  he  watched,  the  light  went  out,  and  he  felt  more 
satisfied. 

He  reached  a  point  on  the  edge  of  the  forest  opposite 
the  barn.  Then  something  brought  him  up  with  a 
start.  Some  unusual  sound  had  caught  his  ear.  It 
was  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  distance.  Immediately 
his  mind  went  back  to  his  first  night  on  the  ranch,  and 
he  remembered  Red  Mask  and  his  attendant  horseman. 
Now  he  listened,  peering  hard  into  the  darkness  in  the 
direction  of  the  house,  at  the  point  whence  the  sound 
was  proceeding.  Whoever  were  talking  they  seemed 
to  be  standing  still.  The  sound  grew  no  louder,  nor  did 
it  die  away.  His  curiosity  drew  him  on  ;  and,  with 
cautious  steps,  he  crept  forward. 

He  tried  to  estimate  how  far  the  speakers  were  from 
the  house.  It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were  somew^here 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  rancher's  private  stable 
But  he  could  not  be  altogether  sure. 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS       211 

Now,  as  he  drew  nearer,  the  voices  became  louder. 
He  could  distinctly  hear  the  rise  and  fall  of  their  tones, 
but  still  they  were  unrecognizable.  Again  he  paused, 
this  time  for  caution's  sake  only.  He  estimated  that 
he  was  within  twenty-five  yards  of  the  stable.  It  would 
not  be  safe  to  go  further.  The  steady  murmur  that 
reached  him  was  tantalizing.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances he  would  have  risked  discovery  and  gone  on, 
but  he  could  not  jeopardize  his  present  object. 

He  stretched  himself  under  the  shelter  of  a  low  bush, 
and,  strangely  enough,  recognized  it  as  the  one  he  had 
Iain  under  on  that  memorable  first  night.  This  realiza^ 
tion  brought  him  a  grim  foreboding ;  he  knew  what  he 
expected,  he  knew  what  was  coming.  And  his  fore- 
boding was  fulfilled  within  a  few  seconds  of  taking  up 
his  position. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  door  close,  and  the  voices 
ceased  speaking.  He  waited  almost  breathlessly  for 
the  next  move.  It  came.  The  crackling  of  pine  cones 
under  shod  hoofs  sounded  sharply  to  his  straining  ears. 
It  was  a  repetition  of  what  had  happened  before.  Two 
horsemen  were  approaching  from  the  direction  of  the 
house.  It  was  inevitable  that  his  hand  should  go  to 
his  gun,  and,  as  he  realized  his  own  action,  he  under- 
stood how  surely  the  prairie  instincts  had  claimed  him. 
But  he  withdrew  it  quickly  and  waited,  for  he  had  no 
intention  of  taking  action.  It  might  be  Red  Mask.  It 
probably  was.  But  he  had  no  intention  of  upsetting 
his  present  plans  by  any  blind,  precipitate  attack  upon 
the  desperado.  Besides,  if  Red  Mask  and  Jake  were 
one,  then  the  shooting  of  him,  in  cold  blood,  in  the 


212  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

vicinity  of  the  ranch,  would,  in  the  eyes  of  the  police, 
be  murder.  No  story  of  his  would  convince  a  jury 
that  the  foreman  of  Mosquito  Bend  was  a  cattle-rustler. 

A  moment  later  the  horses  dimly  outlined  themselves. 
There  were  two  of  them,  as  before.  But  he  could  not 
see  well,  the  woods  seemed  darker  than  before ;  and, 
besides,  they  did  not  pass  so  near  to  him.  They  went 
on  like  ghostly,  silent  shadows,  only  the  scrunch  of  the 
cones  underfoot  told  of  their  solidity. 

He  waited  until  the  sound  died  out,  then  he  rose 
quietly  and  pursued  his  way.  But  what  he  had  just 
witnessed  plunged  his  thoughts  into  a  moody  channel. 
The  night-riders  were  abroad  again,  riding  unchecked 
upon  their  desperate  way,  over  the  trail  of  murder  and 
robbery  they  cut  for  themselves  wherever  they  went. 
He  wondered  with  dread  who  was  to  be  victim  to-night. 
He  remembered  Manson  Orr  and  shuddered.  He  had 
a  bitter  feeling  that  he  had  acted  wrongly  in  letting 
them  pass  unchallenged  in  spite  of  what  reason  and  a 
cool  judgment  told  him.  His  duty  had  been  to  investi- 
gate, but  he  also  thought  of  a  sad-faced  girl,  friendless 
and  alone,  weeping  her  heart  out  in  the  midst  of  her 
own  home.  And  somehow  his  duty  faded  out  before 
the  second  picture.  And,  as  though  to  further  encour- 
age him,  the  memory  of  Joe  Nelson's  words  came  to 
him  suddenly,  and  continued  to  haunt  him  persistently. 

**  You'll  jest  round  that  gal  up  into  your  own  corrals^ 
an'  set  your  own  brand  on  her  quick,  eh  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM 

When  the  horsemen  had  passed  out  of  hearing, 
Tresler  still  exerted  the  utmost  caution.  He  had  yet  to 
pass  the  blind  man's  room,  and  he  knew  that  that  indi- 
vidual's hearing  was  something  bordering  on  the  mar- 
velous, and,  he  argued,  he  must  still  be  up,  or,  at  least, 
awake.  So  he  moved  on  with  the  lightest  tread,  with 
every  sense  alert ;  watchful  alike  for  every  unusual 
sound  or  movement.  At  the  stable  he  paused  and 
gently  tried  the  door.  It  was  fast.  He  put  his  ear  to 
it  and  listened,  and  was  forced  to  be  content  with  the 
rattle  of  the  collar  chains,  and  the  sound  of  the  heavy- 
breathing  animals  within.  He  would  have  liked  to 
investigate  further,  for  the  noise  of  the  shutting  door, 
he  knew,  had  come  from  the  stable,  but  it  behooved 
him  to  refrain.  It  would  be  worse  than  useless  to  rouse 
the  man,  Anton,  who  slept  over  \he  stable.  And  there 
was  no  other  means  of  ascertaining  what  had  been 
going  on. 

He  crept  on ;  and  now  the  shadowy  outline  of  the 
house  itself  shut  him  off  from  the  ranch.  He  cleared 
the  danger  zone  of  the  rancher's  bedroom  and  reached 
the  kitchen,  where  he  met  with  a  first  disappointment. 
He  was  relieved  and  delighted  to  find  that  a  light  was 
still  burning  there  ;  but  his  joy  was  dashed  almost  im- 
mediately by  finding  that  the  linen  blind  was  down,  and 


214  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

not  a  crack  showed  by  which  he  could  get  a  view  of  th^ 
room.  He  dared  not  go  to  the  door  until  he  had  ascer- 
tained who  was  within,  so  he  stood  for  a  moment  un- 
certain what  to  do.  Then  he  suddenly  rem.embered 
that  the  kitchen  had  another  window  on  the  far  side  of 
the  lean-to.  It  would  mean  passing  out  into  the  open 
again ;  still,  the  darkness  was  such  that  the  risk  was 
reduced  to  a  minimum. 

With  no  further  hesitation  he  hurried  round.  His 
only  care  now  was  to  tread  quietly,  and  even  this 
seemed  unnecessary,  for  the  blind  man's  room  was  at 
the  other  side  of  the  house,  and,  if  his  suspicions  were 
correct,  Jake  was  busy  at  his  nocturnal  trade.  Fortune 
favored  him.  The  blind  was  down,  but  the  lower  sash 
of  the  window  was  raised,  and  he  saw  that,  by  pulling 
the  linen  on  one  side,  he  could  obtain  a  full  view  of  the 
room. 

He  was  about  to  carry  out  his  purpose.  His  hand 
was  raised  and  reaching  toward  the  window,  w^hen  the 
sound  of  weeping  came  to  him  and  checked  his  action. 
He  stood  listening  for  a  second.  Then,  with  a  stifled 
ejaculation,  he  thrust  his  hand  out  further,  and  caught 
the  edge  of  the  bhnd. 

He  paused  for  nothing  now.  He  had  no  scruples. 
He  knew  without  inquiry  who  it  was  that  was  weeping 
within ;  who  else  but  Diane  could  it  be  ?  And  at  the 
sound  of  each  choking  sob,  his  heart  was  wrung,  and 
he  longed  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her, 
This  love  of  his  which  had  taken  its  place  so  suddenly 
in  his  life  thrilled  through  his  body  like  a  fiery  torrent 
roused  to  fever  heat  by  the  sound  of  the  girl's  sobs. 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       215 

Drawing  the  edge  of  the  blind  sharply  on  one  side, 
he  peered  into  the  room.  His  worst  fears  were  realized. 
Diane  was  at  the  far  side  of  the  kitchen  sitting  over  the 
square  cook-stove,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro  in  an  ac- 
cess of  misery,  and,  in  what  seemed  to  him,  an  attitude 
of  physical  suffering.  Her  pretty  head  was  bowed  low 
upon  her  hands,  and  her  whole  frame  was  shaken  by 
the  sobs  she  was  struggling  hard  to,  but  could  not, 
suppress. 

He  took  all  this  in  at  a  glance,  then  his  eyes  rested 
upon  her  arms.  The  sleeves  of  her  dress  had  been  un- 
fastened, and  were  thrown  back  from  her  wrists,  leav- 
ing them  bare  to  the  elbo-?^  And  he  saw,  to  his  horror 
and  indignation,  that  the  soft,  rounded  flesh  of  her 
forearm  was  swollen  and  bruised.  The  sight  made 
him  clench  his  teeth,  and  his  blue  eyes  suddenly  hard- 
ened. He  no  longer  permitted  caution  to  govern  his 
actions. 

**  Hist,  Diane ! "  he  whispered  hoarsely.  And  he 
shook  the  stiff  blind  to  further  draw  her  attention. 
*'  It  is  I,  Tresler,"  he  went  on  urgently. 

And  the  girl  sprang  from  her  seat  instantly  and  faced 
the  window.  She  dashed  her  hand  across  her  eyes 
and  hastily  sought  to  readjust  her  sleeves.  But  the 
pitiful  attempt  to  thus  hide  her  trouble  only  made  the 
signs  more  marked.  The  tears  still  flowed,  in  spite  of 
her  bravest  manner,  and  no  effort  of  hers  was  able  to 
keep  the  sweet  lips  from  quivering. 

She  took  one  step  in  the  direction  of  the  window, 
but  drew  up  with  such  a  violent  start  and  expression 
of  alarm   in  her  tearful  eyes,  that  Tresler  peered  all 


«i6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

t^ound  the  room  for  the  cause.  He  saw  nothing  more 
startling  than  a  slumbering  cat  and  the  fragments  of  a 
broken  lamp  upon  the  floor,  and  his  eyes  went  back  to 
her  again.  Then,  as  he  marked  her  attitude  of  atten- 
tion, he  understood.  She  was  listening  for  the  familiar 
but  ominous  "  tap,  tap "  of  her  father's  stick.  Ke 
too  listened.  Then,  as  no  sound  came  to  his  straining 
ears,  he  spoke  again. 

"  I  m.ust  speak  with  you,  Miss  Diane,"  he  whispered. 
"  Open  the  back  door." 

It  was  only  after  making  his  demand  that  he  realized 
how  impossible  it  must  have  sounded  to  the  distraught 
girl.  It  was  the  first  time,  since  he  had  set  out  to 
see  her,  that  it  occurred  to  him  how  one-sided  was 
the  proposition.  She  had  no  knowledge  of  his  resolve 
to  thrust  his  aid  upon  her.  He  told  himself  that  she 
could  have  no  possible  inkling  of  his  feelings  toward 
her :  and  he  waited  with  no  little  anxiety  for  her 
resDonse. 

Nor  was  that  response  long  in  coming.  She  made 
another  effort  to  dash  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  Then, 
half  defiantly  and  half  eagerly,  she  stepped  up  to  the 
window. 

"  Go  round  to  the  door,  quick  !  "  she  whispered,  and 
moved  off  again  as  though  she  stood  in  imminent  peril 
as  a  consequence  of  her  words. 

And  Tresler  was  round  at  the  door  and  standing  in 
the  shadow  of  the  water-barrel  before  the  bolt  was 
slipped  back.  Now,  as  the  girl  raised  the  latch  and 
silently  opened  the  door,  he  slid  within.  He  offered 
no  explanation,  but  simply  pointed  to  the  window. 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       217 

"  We  must  close  that,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

And  Diane  obeyed  without  demur.  There  was  a 
quiet  unobtrusive  force  about  this  man  whenever  his 
actions  were  directed  into  a  definite  channel.  And 
Diane  found  herself  complying  without  the  least  resent- 
ment, or  even  doubt  as  to  the  necessity  for  his  orders. 
Now  she  came  back  to  him,  and  raised  a  pair  of  trust- 
ing eyes  to  his  face,  and  he,  looking  down  into  them, 
thought  he  had  never  gazed  upon  anything  so  sweetly 
pathetic ;  nor  had  he  ever  encountered  anything  quite 
so  rousing  as  the  implicit  trust  of  her  manner  toward 
him.  Whatever  he  had  felt  for  her  before,  it  was  as 
nothing  to  the  delicious  sense  of  protection,  the  inde- 
finable wave  of  responsibility,  almost  parental,  that 
now  swept  over  him.  He  felt  that,  come  what  might, 
she  was  his  to  cherish,  to  guard,  to  pilot  through  what- 
ever shoals  her  life  might  hold  for  her.  It  was  the  ef- 
fect of  her  simple  womanly  trust  appealing  to  his  man- 
hood, unconsciously  for  her  part,  but  nevertheless 
surely.  Nor  was  that  feeling  only  due  to  his  love  for 
her  ;  it  was  largely  the  chivalrous  instinct  of  a  brave 
and  strong  man  for  a  weak  woman  that  filled  his  heart 
at  that  moment. 

"There  is  a  lot  for  us  to  talk  about,"  he  said.  "  A 
lot  that  others  mustn't  hear,"  he  added  thoughtfully. 

"  What  others  ?  "  Diane  asked  anxiously. 

Tresler  deemed  it  best  to  avoid  half  measures,  and 
answered  vv  ith  prompt  decision  — 

"  Your  father,  for  one." 

'*  Then,"  said  Diane,  steadying  at  once,  "  we  had 
better  close  the  door  into  the  passage." 


2i8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

She  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and  returned  dry* 
eved  and  calm. 

"  My  father  ?  "  Her  question  was  sharp  ;  it  was  a 
demand. 

Instead  of  answering  her,  Tresler  pointed  to  the 
broken  lamp  on  the  floor. 

"You  have  had  an  accident,"  he  said,  and  his  blue 
eyes  compelled  hers,  and  held  them. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  after  the  least  possible  hesitation. 
Then,  not  without  a  slight  touch  of  resentment :  "  But 
you  have  not  answered  my  question." 

"  ril  answer  that  later  on.  Let  me  go  on  in  my  own 
way." 

The  girl  was  impressed  with  the  gravity  of  his  man- 
ner. She  felt  uneasy  too.  She  felt  how  impossible  it 
would  be  to  hide  anything  from  this  man,  who,  quiet  yet 
kindly,  could  exercise  so  masterful  an  influence  over  her. 
And  there  was  a  good  deal  just  now  she  would  have 
liked  to  keep  from  him.  While  they  were  talking  she 
drew  the  sleeves  of  her  dress  dow^n  over  her  bruised 
wrists.  Tresler  saw  the  action  and  called  her  attention 
to  the  blackened  flesh  she  was  endeavoring  to  hide. 

"  Another  accident  ? "  he  asked.  And  Diane  kept 
silence.  **  Two  accidents,  and — tears,"  he  went  on,  in 
so  gentle  a  tone  that  fresh  tears  slowly  welled  up  into 
her  eyes.  "  That  is  quite  unlike  you,  Miss — Diane. 
One  moment.  Let  me  look."  He  reached  out  to  take 
her  hands,  but  she  drew  away  from  him.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  *'  I  wonder  if  it  were  an  accident  ?  "  he 
said,  his  keen  eyes  searching  her  face.  "  It  would  bf 
strange  to  bruise  both  wrists  by — accident." 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       219 

The  girl  held  silent  for  a  while.  It  was  evident  that 
a  struggle  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  Tresler  watched. 
He  saw  the  indecision.  He  knew  how  sorely  he  was 
pressing  his  advantage.  Yet  he  must  do  it,  if  he  would 
carry  out  his  purpose.  He  felt  that  he  was  acting  the 
brute,  but  it  was  the  only  way.  Every  barrier  must  be 
swept  aside.  At  last  she  threw  her  head  back  with  an 
impatient  movement,  and  a  slight  flush  of  anger 
tinged  her  cheeks. 

"  And  what  if  it  were  no  accident?" 

*'  The  bruises  or  the  lamp  ?  " 

"  Both." 

*'  Then  " — and  Tresler's  tone  was  keenly  incisive — 
*'  it  is  the  work  of  some  cruelly  disposed  person.  You 
would  not  wilfully  bruise  yourself,  Diane,"  he  moved 
nearer  to  her,  and  his  voice  softened  wonderfully ; 
*'  is  there  any  real  reason  why  you  cannot  trust  me  with 
the  truth  ?  May  I  not  share  something  of  your 
troubles  ?  See,  I  will  save  you  the  pain  of  the  telling. 
If  I  am  right,  do  not  answer  me,  and  I  shall  understand. 
Your  father  has  been  here,  and  it  was  his  doing — these 
things." 

The  anger  had  passed  out  of  the  girl's  face,  and  her 
eyes,  troubled  enough  but  yielding,  looked  up  into  his. 

*' But  how  do  you ?" 

"  Some  one,  we  both  know  whom,  has  maliciously 
been  talking  to  your  father,"  Tresler  went  on,  without 
heeding  the  interruption  ;  "  has  been  lying  to  him  to 
prejudice  him  against  me — us.  And  your  father  has 
accepted  his  tales  without  testing  their  veracity.  Hav- 
ing done  so,  he  has  spoken  to  you.     What  has  passed 


220  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

between  you  I  do  not  know,  nor  shall  I  attempt  to 
fathom.  The  result  is  more  than  sufficient  for  me. 
You  are  unhappy  ;  you  have  been  unusually  unhappy 
for  days.  You  have  wept  much,  and  now  you  bear 
signs  of  violence  on  your  arms." 

Diane  averted  her  gaze,  her  head  was  bent,  and  her 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  broken  lamp. 

"Shall  I  go  on?"  Tresler  continued.  'Shall  I  tell 
you  the  whole  story?     Yes,  I  had  better." 

Diane  nodded  without  looking  at  him. 

**  You  know  most  of  it,  but  you  may  not  have  looked 
at  it  quite  in  the  same  way  that  I  do."  His  tone  was 
very  low,  there  was  a  great  depth  of  earnestness  in  it. 
**  We  are  all  in  the  midst  of  a  foul  conspiracy,  and  that 
conspiracy  it  is  for  us  to  break  up.  Your  father  is 
threatened.  You  know  it.  And  you  are  threatened 
with  marriage  to  a  rascal  that  should  be  wiped  off  the 
face  of  the  earth.  And  this  is  the  work  of  one  man 
whom  we  believe  to  be  the  scourge  of  the  countryside ; 
whom  we  call  Red  Mask  or  Jake  Harnach,  according 
to  when  and  where  we  meet  him.  Now,  is  this  all  to 
go  on  without  protest  ?  Will  you  submit  ?  Is  your 
father  to  be  victimized  ?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

**  No,"  she  said.  Then  with  a  sudden  burst  of  pas- 
sion she  went  on,  only  keeping  her  voice  low  by  the 
greatest  effort.  "  But  what  can  we  do  ?  I  have  warned 
father.  He  has  been  told  all  that  you  have  told  me. 
He  laughed.  And  I  grew  angry.  Then  he  grew 
angry,  too.  And — and  these  things  are  the  result. 
Oh,  he  hates  you  because  he  believes  Jake's  stories. 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       221 

And  he  scorns  all  my  accusations  against  Jake,  and 
treats  me  worse  than  some  silly,  tattling  servant  girl. 
How  can  we  do  anything?" 

It  was  that  last  question  that  set  fire  to  the  powder- 
train.  She  had  coupled  herself  with  him,  and  Tresler, 
seeking  only  the  faintest  loophole,  jumped  at  the  op- 
portunity it  afforded  him.  His  serious  face  softened. 
A  slow,  gende  smile  crept  into  his  eyes,  and  Diane  was 
held  by  their  caressing  gaze. 

"  We  can  do  something.  We  are  going  to  do  some- 
thing," he  said.  '*  Not  singly,  but  together ;  you 
and  I." 

There  was  that  in  his  manner  that  made  the  girl 
droop  her  eyelids.  There  was  a  warmth,  a  light  in  his 
eyes  he  had  never  permitted  her  to  see  before,  and  her 
woman's  instinct  set  her  heart  beating  fast,  so  fast  that 
she  trembled  and  fidgeted  nervously. 

"  Diane,"  he  went  on,  reaching  out  and  quietly  tak- 
ing possession  of  one  of  her  hands,  and  raising  it  till 
the  bared  wrist  displayed  the  cruel  bruise  encircling  it, 
"  no  man  has  a  right  to  lay  a  hand  upon  a  woman  to 
give  her  pain.  A  woman  has  a  right  to  look  to  her 
men-folk  to  protect  her,  and  when  they  fail  her,  she  is 
indeed  in  sore  straits.  This,"  touching  the  bruises 
w' ith  his  finger,  "  is  the  work  of  your  father,  the  man 
of  all  who  should  protect  you.  You  are  sadly  alone, 
so  much  alone  that  I  cannot  see  what  will  be  the  end 
of  it — if  it  is  allowed  to  go  on.  Diane,  I  love  you,  and 
i  want  you,  henceforward,  to  let  me  be  your  protector. 
You  will  need  some  whole-hearted  support  in  the 
future.     I  can  see  it.     And  you  can  see  it  too.     Say,  tell 


222  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

me,  little  girl,  fate  has  pitched  us  together  in  a  stormy 
sea,  surely  it  is  for  me  to  aid  you  with  all  the  loving 
care  and  help  I  can  bestow.  Believe  me,  I  am  no  idle 
boaster.  I  do  not  even  say  that  my  protection  will  be 
worth  as  much  as  that  of  our  faithful  old  Joe,  but,  such 
as  it  is,  it  is  yours,  whether  you  take  me  with  it  or  no, 
for  as  long  as  I  live." 

Diane  had  had  time  to  recover  from  her  first  embar- 
rassment. She  knew  that  she  loved  this  man  ;  knew 
that  she  had  done  so  almost  from  the  very  first.  He 
was  so  different  from  the  men  she  had  known  about  the 
ranch.  She  understood,  and  acknowledged  without 
shame,  the  feeling  that  had  prompted  her  first  warning 
to  him.  She  knew  that  ever  since  his  coming  to  the 
ranch  he  had  hardly  ever  been  out  of  her  thoughts. 
She  had  never  attempted  to  deceive  herself  about  him. 
All  she  had  feared  was  that  she  might,  by  some  chance 
act,  betray  her  feelings  to  him,  and  so  earn  his  ever- 
lasting contempt.  She  was  very  simple  and  single- 
minded.  She  had  known  practically  no  association 
with  her  sex.  Her  father,  who  had  kept  her  a  willing 
slave  by  his  side  all  her  life,  had  seen  to  that.  And  so 
she  had  been  thrown  upon  her  own  resources,  with  the 
excellent  result  that  she  had  grown  up  with  a  mind  un- 
tainted by  any  worldly  thought.  And  now,  when  this 
man  came  to  her  with  his  version  of  the  old,  old  story, 
she  knew  no  coquetry,  knew  how  to  exercise  no  coy- 
ness or  other  blandishment.  She  made  no  pretense  of 
any  sort.  She  loved  him,  so  what  else  was  there  to  do 
but  to  tell  him  so  ? 

*'Joe  has  been  my  faithful  protector  for  years,  Mr 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       223 

Treslar,"  she  replied,  her  sweet  round  face  blushing 
and  smiling  as  she  raised  it  to  him,  **  and  I  know  his 
value  and  goodness.  But — but  I'd  sooner  have  you — 
ever  so  much." 

And  of  her  own  accord  she  raised  her  other  hand  to 
his  and  placed  it  trustfully  within  his  only  too  willing 
clasp.  But  this  was  not  sufficient  for  Tresler.  He 
reached  out  and  took  her  in  his  powerful  arms  and 
drew  her  to  his  breast.  And  when  he  released  her 
there  were  tears  again  in  her  eyes,  but  they  were  tears 
of  happiness. 

*' And  now,  sweetheart,  we  must  be  practical  again," 
he  said.  "If  I  am  to  be  your  protector,  I  must  not 
allow  my  inclination  to  interfere  with  duty.  Some  day, 
when  you  are  my  wife,  we  shall  be  able  to  look  back 
on  this  time  and  be  proud  of  our  restraint.  Just  now 
it  is  hard.  It  is  a  moment  for  kisses  and  happy  dreams, 
and  these  things  are  denied  us " 

He  broke  off  and  started  as  the  flutter  of  the  linen 
blind  behind  him  drew  his  attention. 

**I  thought  you  shut  the  window,"  he  said  sharply. 

"  I  thought  I  did ;  perhaps  I  didn't  quite  close  it." 

Diane  was  about  to  move  over  to  investigate,  but 
Tresler  restrained  her. 

-  Wait." 

He  went  instead.  The  window  was  open  about  six 
inches.  He  closed  and  bolted  it,  and  came  back  with 
a  smile  on  his  face  that  in  no  way  deceived  the  girl. 

"Yes,  you  left  it  open,"  he  said. 

And  Diane's  reply  was  an  unconvinced  "  Ah  !  " 

"  Now  let  us  be  quick,"  he   went  on.     "  Jake  may 


224  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

threaten  and  bully,  but  he  can  do  nothing  to  really  hurt 
you.  You  are  safe  from  him.  For,  before  anything 
can  possibly  happen — I  mean  to  you — I  shall  be  on 
hand  to  help  you.  Joe  is  our  watch-dog,  asking  his 
pardon.  You  can  take  heart  in  the  thought  that  you 
are  no  longer  alone.  But  developments  are  imminent, 
and  I  want  you  to  watch  your  father  closely,  and  en- 
deavor to  ascertain  Jake's  attitude  toward  him.  This 
is  my  fear^ — that  Jake  may  put  some  nefarious  scheme, 
as  regards  him,  into  operation ;  such  schemes  as  we 
cannot  anticipate.  He  may  even  try  to  silence  me,  or 
make  me  ineffective  in  some  way  before  such  time 
comes  along.     He  may  adopt  some  way  of  getting  rid 


"  What  way  ?  '*  There  was  a  world  of  fear  and  anx- 
iety in  Diane's  question,  and  she  drew  up  close  to  him 
as  though  she  would  protect  him  with  her  own  frail 
body. 

Tresler  shrugged.  "  I  don't  know.  But  it  doesn't 
matter  ;  I  have  my  plans  arranged.  The  thing  that  is 
of  more  importance  is  the  fact  that  the  night-riders  are 
abroad  again.  I  saw  them  on  my  way  here.  At  the 
same  spot  where  I  saw  them  before.  This  time  I  shall 
not  conceal  my  knowledge  of  the  fact." 

**  You  mean  you  will  tell  Jake — to  his  face  ?  '* 

Diane  gave  a  little  gasp,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  fixed 
themselves  apprehensively  upon  his.  They  had  in 
their  depths  a  soft  look  of  admiration,  in  spite  of  her 
anxiety  and  fear.  But  Tresler  saw  nothing  of  that.  He 
took  her  question  seriously. 

"  Certainly ;  it  is  my  only  means  of  getting  into  line 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       225 

of  battle.  By  this  means  I  shall  make  myself  the  cen- 
tre of  open  attack — if  all  our  surmises  be  true.  It  is 
getting  late  and  I  must  go.  I  want  to  witness  the  re- 
turn of  the  ruffians." 

A  silence  fell.  The  man  had  said  it  was  time  for  him 
to  go,  but  he  found  it  hard  to  tear  himself  away.  He 
wanted  to  say  so  much  to  her  ;  he  wanted  to  ask  her 
so  much.  Diane,  half  shyly,  came  a  step  nearer  to  him, 
and,  though  her  face  was  smiling  bravely,  a  pucker 
wrinkled  her  brows. 

*'Mr.  Tresler " 

"  I  was  christened  *  John.' 

**John,  then."  The  girl  blushed  faintly  as  she  pro- 
nounced the  name,  which,  spoken  by  her,  seemed  to 
seal  the  bond  between  them.  *'  Is  it  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  tell  Jake  ?  Is  it  absolutely  necessary  to  put 
yourself  in  such  peril  ?     Couldn't  you " 

But  she  got  no  further.  Her  lover's  arms  were  about 
her  in  an  instant.  He  caught  her  to  him  in  a  great 
embrace  and  kissed  her  pleading,  upturned  face. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  child.  It  is  absolutely  necessary. 
No,  you  can't  go  yet,"  as  she  struggled  feebly  to  free 
herself.  '*  I  ought  to  leave  you  now,  yet  I  can  hardly 
tear  myself  away.  I  have  heaps  to  ask  you  :  about 
yourself,  your  life,  your  father.  I  want  to  learn  all 
there  is  in  your  little  head,  in  your  heart,  little  girl.  I 
want  to  make  our  bond  of  love  one  of  perfect  sympathy 
and  understanding  of  each  other ;  of  trust  and  confi- 
dence. It  is  necessary.  We  come  together  here  with 
storm-clouds  gathering  on  our  horizon  ;  with  the  storm 
actually  breaking.     We  come  together  under  strange 


226  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

and  unusual  circumstances,  and  must  fight  for  this  love 
of  ours.  Ours  will  be  no  flower-strewn  path.  This  much 
I  have  fully  realized  ;  but  it  only  makes  me  the  more 
determined  to  see  it  through  quickly.  We  have  to 
fight — good.  We  will  be  early  in  the  field.  Now 
good-night,  sweetheart.  God  bless  you.  Trust  to  me. 
Whatever  I  do  will  be  done  after  careful  deliberation  ; 
with  a  view  to  our  common  goal.  If  I  am  wrong,  so 
much  the  worse.  I  will  do  all  that  is  given  me  to  do. 
And,  last,  remember  this.  Should  anything  happen  to 
me,  you  have  two  friends  who  will  never  let  Jake  marry 
you.  They  are  Joe  and  Arizona.  Now%  good-bye 
again." 

*'  But  nothing  will  happen  to  you — Jack  ?  " 

Every  vestige  of  independence,  every  atom  of  the  old 
self-reliance  ^had  gone  from  the  girl's  manner.  She 
clung  to  him,  timid,  loving,  a  gentle,  weak  woman. 
Her  whole  soul  was  in  her  appeal  and  the  look  she  be- 
stowed. 

"  I  hope  not.  Courage,  little  woman.  I  remember 
the  white  dress,  the  sad,  dark  little  face  beneath  the 
straw  sun-hat  of  the  girl  who  knew  no  fear  when  two 
men  held  thoughts  of  slaying  each  other,  and  were  al- 
most in  the  act  of  putting  them  into  execution.  You 
must  remember  her  too." 

"  You  are  right,  Jack.  I  will  be  brave  and  help  you, 
if  I  can.     Good-bye." 

They  kissed  once  more,  and  Tresler  hurried  from  the 
room  with  the  precipitancy  of  a  man  who  can  only 
hold  to  his  purpose  by  an  ignominious  flight  from 
temptation. 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       227 

Outside  the  door  he  paused,  turned,  and  closed  it 
carefully  after  him.  And  then  he  listened  intently. 
He  had  in  no  way  been  deceived  by  the  window  busi- 
ness. He  knew,  as  Diane  knew,  that  she  had  closed 
it.  Some  hand  from  outside  had  opened  it ;  and  he 
wondered  whose  had  been  the  hand,  and  what  the  pur- 
pose. 

When  he  passed  out  of  the  kitchen,  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  night  had  changed.  There  was  not  a  star  visi- 
ble, and  the  only  light  to  guide  him  was  that  which 
shone  through  the  window.  He  waited  while  Diane 
bolted  the  door,  then,  as  nothing  appealed  to  cause 
him  alarm,  he  moved  off.  He  had  to  pass  round 
the  shed  where  Joe  slept.  This  w^as  an  addition  to 
the  kitchen,  and  quite  shut  off  from  the  house.  He 
groped  his  way  along  the  wall  of  it  till  he  came  to  the 
door,  which  stood  open.  He  was  half  inclined  to  go  in 
and  rouse  the  little  choreman.  He  felt  that  he  would 
like  to  tell  his  old  friend  of  his  luck,  his  happiness. 
Then  it  flashed  through  his  mind  that,  seeing  the  door 
was  open,  Joe  might  still  be  abroad.  So  he  contented 
himself  with  listening  for  the  sound  of  his  breathing. 
All  was  still  within  ;  his  conjecture  was  right.  Joe  had 
not  yet  turned  in. 

He  was  puzzled.  Where  was  Joe,  and  what  was  he 
doing  at  this  hour  of  the  night  ? 

He  moved  on  slowly  now.  His  thoughts  were  fully 
occupied.  He  was  not  the  man  to  let  a  single  detail 
pass  without  careful  analysis.  And  the  matter  was 
curious.  Especially  in  conjunction  with  the  fact  of  the 
open  window.     He  attributed  no  treachery  to  Joe,  but 


228  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

the  thing  wanted  explanation.  He  rounded  the  build^ 
ing,  and  as  he  did  so  understood  the  change  in  the 
weather.  A  sharp  gust  of  wind  took  him,  and  he  felt 
several  drops  of  rain  splash  upon  his  face.  A  moment 
later  a  flash  of  lightning  preceded  a  distant  rumble  of 
thunder. 

He  quickened  his  pace  and  drew  out  into  the  open, 
leaving  the  shadow  of  the  woods  behind  him  as  he 
turned  toward  the  ranch  buildings.  The  light  in  the 
kitchen  had  been  put  out.  Evidently  Diane  had  already 
gone  to  bed.  He  stepped  out  briskly,  and  a  moment 
later  another  flash  of  lightning  revealed  the  window 
close  beside  him.  He  mechanically  stretched  out  a 
hand  and  felt  along  the  sill.  It  was  tightly  closed 
all  right.  A  crash  of  thunder  warned  him  of  the  quick- 
rising  summer  storm  that  was  upon  him,  and  the  rain 
was  coming  down  with  that  ominous  solidity  which 
portends  a  real,  if  brief,  deluge.  He  started  at  a  run. 
A  drenching  at  that  hour  was  unpleasant  to  contemplate. 
He  had  intended  witnessing  the  return  of  the  night- 
riders,  but,  under  the  circumstances,  that  was  now  out 
of  the  question. 

He  had  only  gone  a  few  paces  when  he  brought  up 
to  a  stand.  Even  amidst  the  noisy  splashing  of  the 
rain,  he  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  running  feet 
somewhere  near  by  ;  so  he  stood  listening  with  every 
nerve  straining.  Then  the  promised  deluge  came  and 
drowned  every  other  sound.  It  was  no  use  waiting 
longer,  so  he  hurried  on  toward  his  quarters. 

A  dozen  strides  further  on  and  the  sky  was  split  from 
end   to   end    with   a   fork   of  lightning,   and    he  was 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       229 

brought  to  a  dead  halt  by  the  scene  it  revealed.  It 
was  gone  in  an  instant,  and  the  thunder  crashed  right 
above  him.  He  had  distinctly  seen  the  figures  of  two 
men  running.  One  was  running  toward  him,  and, 
curiously  enough,  the  other  was  running  from  his  left 
rear.  And  yet  he  had  seen  them  both.  Utterly  heed- 
less of  the  rain  now,  he  waited  for  another  flash.  There 
was  something  strange  doing,  and  he  wished  to  fathom 
the  mystery. 

The  duration  of  the  storm  was  only  a  matter  of  a  few 
minutes.  It  seemed  to  have  spent  itself  in  one  flash  of 
lightning  and  one  peal  of  thunder.  The  second  flash 
was  long  in  coming.  But  at  last  a  hazy  sheet  of  white 
light  shone  for  a  second  over  the  western  sky,  reveal- 
ing the  ghostly  shadow  of  a  man  coming  at  him,  bearing 
in  his  upraised  hand  some  heavy  weapon  of  offense.  He 
leapt  to  avoid  the  blow.  But  he  was  too  late.  The 
weapon  descended,  and,  though  he  flung  his  arms  to 
protect  himself,  the  darkness  foiled  him,  and  a  crushing 
blow  on  the  head  felled  him  to  the  ground.  And  as  he 
fell  some  great  noise  roared  in  his  ears,  or  so  it  seemed, 
and  echoed  and  reechoed  through  his  head.  Then  he 
knew  no  more. 

All  sound  was  lost  in  the  deluge  of  rain.  The  sky 
was  unrelieved  by  any  further  flashes  of  light  for  many 
minutes.  Then,  at  last,  one  came.  A  weak,  distant 
lighting  up  of  the  clouds,  overhead,  but  it  was  suflicient 
to  show  the  outstretched  form  of  the  stricken  man  lying 
with  his  white  face  staring  up  at  the  sky.  Also  it 
revealed  a  shadowy  figure  bending  over  him.  There 
was  no  face  visible,  no  distinct  outline  of  form.     And 


230  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

this  figure  was  moving,  and  appeared  to  be  testing  the 
lifeless  condition  of  the  fallen  man. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  rain  ceased,  but  the  water  was 
still  racing  down  the  hill  in  little  trickling  rivulets 
toward  the  ranch  buildings.  And  as  rapidly  as  the 
storm  had  come  up  so  the  sky  cleared.  Again  the 
stars  shone  out  and  a  faint  radiance  dimly  outlined  the 
scene  of  the  attack. 

Within  fifty  yards  of  the  rancher's  house  Tresler  was 
still  stretched  out  upon  the  ground,  but  now  a  different 
figure  was  bending  over  him.  It  was  a  well-defined 
figure  this  time,  a  familiar  figure.  A  litde  man  with  a 
gray  head  and  a  twisted  face. 

It  was  Joe  Nelson  trying,  by  every  rough  art  his 
prairie  life  had  taught  him,  to  restore  animation  and 
consciousness  in  his  friend.  For  a  long  time  his  efforts 
were  unavailing;  the  task  seemed  hopeless.  Then, 
when  the  little  man  had  begun  to  fear  the  very  worst, 
his  patient  suddenly  moved  and  threw  out  his  legs 
convulsively.  Once  the  springs  of  life  had  been  set  in 
motion,  the  hardy  constitution  asserted  itself,  and, 
without  further  warning,  Tresler  sat  bolt  upright  and 
stared  about  him  wonderingly.  For  a  few  seconds  he 
sat  thus,  then,  with  a  movement  of  intense  agony,  one 
hand  went  up  to  his  head. 

"  My  God !    What's  the  matter  with  me  ?     My  head ! " 

He  slowly  rocked  himself  for  a  brief  spell ;  then,  with 
another  start,  he  recognized  his  friend,  and,  with  an 
effort,  sprang  to  his  feet. 

*'  Joe  !  "  he  cried.  Then  he  reeled  and  would  have 
fallen  but  for  the  supporting  arm  about  his  waist. 


THE  RISING  OF  A  SUMMER  STORM       231 

"  You  wer'  nigh  '  done  up.'  Say,  I  wus  kind  o* 
rattled.  I'd  shaddered  that  feller  fer  an  hour  or  more, 
an'  then  lost  him.  Gee  ! "  And  there  was  an  infinite 
'Expression  of  disgust  in  the  exclamation. 

"  Him  I     Who  ?  " 

**  Ther's  on'y  one  feller  around  here  hatin'  you  fit  to 
murder,  I  guess." 

"  You  mean — Jake  ?  "  asked  Tresler,  in  a  queer  tone. 

"  Sure,"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 

"  But,  Joe,  I  saw  the  night-riders  go  out  to-night. 
Not  more  than  half  an  hour  before  the  storm  came 
on." 

The  little  man  made  no  answer,  but  quietly  urged 
his  patient  forward  in  the  direction  of  the  bunkhouse. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE 

That  night  was  one  that  lived  long  in  Tresler's 
memory.  Weary  in  mind  and  body,  he  was  yet  unable 
to  sleep  when  at  last  he  sought  his  bunk.  His  head 
was  racked  with  excruciating  pain,  which  hammered 
through  his  brain  with  every  pulsation  of  his  throbbing 
temples.  But  it  was  not  that  alone  which  kept  him 
awake.  Thought  ran  riot  with  him,  and  his  mind  flew 
from  one  scene  to  another  without  concentration,  with- 
out continuity,  until  he  felt  that  if  sleep  did  not  come 
he  must  go  mad. 

He  had  talked  late  into  the  night  with  his  shrewd 
counselor,  Joe  ;  and  the  net  result  of  their  talk  was 
that  all  their  theories,  suspicions,  deductions,  were 
wrong.  Jake  and  Red  Mask  were  not  one  and  the 
same.  In  all  probability  Jake  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  ruffianly  raider. 

They  were  driven  to  this  ultimate  conclusion  by  the 
simple  fact  that  while  Tresler  had  been  witnessing  the 
movements  of  the  masked  night-rider,  Joe  had  been 
zealously  dogging  the  footsteps  of  the  foreman  in  the 
general  interests  of  his  mistress.  And  that  individual's 
footsteps  had  never  once  taken  him  to  the  rancher^s 
private  stable. 


THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE  2 

lake  had  evidently  been  out  on  the  spy  himself.  Of 
this  Joe  was  certain,  for  the  man  had  scoured  the  woods 
in  the  direction  of  the  river ;  he  had  watched  the  trail 
from  the  rancher's  stable  for  nearly  half  an  hour ;  he 
had  crept  up  to  the  verandah  of  the  house  under  cover 
of  the  darkness,  seeking  Joe  knew  not  what,  but  always 
on  the  alert,  always  wuth  the  unmistakable  patience  of 
a  man  by  no  means  new  to  such  a  task.  Once  Joe  had 
missed  him  in  the  woods.  Somehow,  like  a  gigantic 
shadow,  Jake  had  contrived  to  give  him  the  slip.  And 
this,  on  comparing  notes,  the  two  friends  found  coincided 
with  the  time  of  the  episode  of  the  unclosed  window. 
Doubtless  he  had  been  the  author  of  that  matter.  They 
made  up  their  minds  that  he  had  witnessed  the  scene 
in  the  kitchen,  which,  of  course,  accounted  for  his  later 
dastardly  attack.  Who  had  Jake  been  out  looking  for? 
What  was  the  object  of  his  espionage  ?  Had  he  been 
looking  for  him,  Tresler,  or  some  one  else  ?  And  herein 
lay  the  mystery.  Herein,  perhaps,  lay  the  key  to  the 
greater  problem  they  sought  to  solve. 

Hour  after  hour  Tresler  lay  awake,  lost  in  a  confusion 
of  thought  which  refused  his  best  efforts  to  straighten 
out.  The  acuteness  of  the  pain  in  his  head  set  his 
mind  almost  wandering.  And  he  found  himself  aim- 
lessly reviewing  the  events  since  his  coming  to 
Mosquito  Bend.  He  tossed  wearily,  drearily,  on  his 
unyielding  palliasse,  driven  to  a  realization  of  his  own 
utter  impotence.  What  had  he  done  in  the  cause  he 
had  espoused  ?  Nothing — simply  nothing.  Worse  : 
he  had  thrust  himself  like  some  clumsy,  bull-headed 
elephant,   into   the   girl's   life,    into   the   midst  of  her 


234  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

troubles,  without  even  that  animars  capacity  for 
attaining  his  object  by  sheer  might.  And  the  result 
was  only  to  aggravate  her  lot ;  to  cause  Jake  to  hasten 
his  plans,  and  add  threats  to  his  other  persecutions. 
And  as  for  the  raiders,  they  were  still  at  large  and  no 
nearer  capture  than  when  he  had  first  arrived.  Yes,  he 
told  himself,  he  had  nothing  but  failure  to  his  account. 
And  that  failure,  instead  of  being  harmlessly  negative, 
was  an  aggravation  of  the  situation. 

But  at  last,  miserable,  overwrought,  and  suffering  as 
he  was,  sleep  came  to  him  ;  a  deep  sleep  that  carried 
him  far  into  the  morning. 

He  had  been  left  undisturbed  by  his  comrades  when 
they  turned  out  at  daybreak.  Joe  had  seen  to  this. 
He  had  put  them  off  with  an  invention  of  his  fertile 
imagination  which  satisfied  them.  Then,  having  hur- 
ried through  his  own  immediate  morning  duties,  he 
waited,  with  that  philosophic  patience  which  he  applied 
now  in  his  declining  years  to  all  the  greater  issues  of 
his  life,  for  his  friend's  awakening. 

And  when  Tresler  aw^oke  he  was  wonderfully  re- 
freshed. His  recuperative  faculties  were  remarkable. 
The  aching  of  his  head  had  passed  away,  and  with  it 
the  deplorable  hopelessness  of  overnight.  He  sat  up 
on  his  bunk,  and  the  first  object  that  his  gaze  fell  upon 
was  the  patient  figure  of  old  Joe. 

"  Well— Scott !  it's  late.  What's  the  time  ?  Where 
are  the  boys  ?     What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

He  fired  his  questions  rapidly.  But  Joe  was  not  to 
be  hurried ;  neither  was  he  going  to  waste  precious 
time  on  unnecessary  talk.     So  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 


THE  BEARDING  OI'   JAKE  235 

ders  and  indicated  the  departure  of  the  men  to  work 
with  a  backward  jerk  of  his  head,  and,  while  Tresler 
performed  his  brief  toilet,  got  to  business  in  his  own 
way. 

"  Feelin'  good  ?  '*  he  asked. 

*'  Fair." 

**  Goin'  right  up  to  see  Jake  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  his  shack.  Say,"  the  old  man  shifted  uneasily, 
**  I've  tho't  a  crateful  sence  w^e  wus  yarnin'  last  night, 
I  guess.  Don't  git  shuvin'  Jake  too  close  agin  the 
wall.  Give  him  your  yarn  easy.  Kind  o'  talk  han'sum 
by  him.  He's  goin'  to  figger  this  thing  out  fer  us. 
He'll  git  givin'  us  a  lead,  mebbe,  when  he  ain't  calc'- 
latin'  to.     Savee  ?  " 

Tresler  didn't  answer  at  once  ;  in  fact,  he  didn't  quite 
see  the  old  man's  point.  He  completed  his  toilet  by 
buckling  on  his  belt  and  revolver.  Then  he  prepared 
to  depart. 

"  We'll  see.  I  intend  to  be  governed  by  circum- 
stances," he  said  quietly. 

'*  Jest  so.  An'  circumstances  has  the  way  o'  gov- 
ernin'  most  things,  anyways.  Guess  I'm  jest  astin'  you 
to  rub  the  corners  off'n  them  circumstances  so  they'll 
run  smooth." 

Tresler  smiled  at  the  manner  of  the  old  man's  advice, 
which  was  plain  enough  this  time. 

**  I  see.     Well,  so  long." 

He  hurried  out  and  Joe  watched  him  go.  Then  the 
(ittle  man  rose  from  his  seat  and  went  out  to  Teddy 
Jinks's  kitchen  on  the  pretense  of  yarning.     In  reality 


236  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

he  knew  that  the  foreman's  hut  was  in  full  view  from 

the  kitchen  window. 

Tresler  walked  briskly  across  to  the  hut.  He  never 
in  his  life  felt  more  ready  to  meet  Jake  than  he  did  at 
this  moment.  He  depended  on  the  outcome  of  this  in- 
terview for  the  whole  of  his  future  course.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  calculate  the  possible  result.  He  felt  that  lo 
do  so  would  be  to  cramp  his  procedure.  He  meant  to 
v/ork  on  his  knowledge  of  his  rival's  character.  Herein 
lay  his  hopes  of  success.  It  was  Joe  who  had  given 
him  his  cue.  "  It's  the  most  dangerousest  thing  to  hit 
a  '  ratder  '  till  you've  got  him  good  an'  riled,"  the  little 
man  had  once  said.  "  Then  he  lifts  an'  it's  dead  easy, 
I  guess.  Hit  him  lyin',  an'  ef  you  don't  kill  him,  ther's 
goin'  to  be  trouble.  Them  critters  has  a  way  of 
thinkin'  hard  an'  quick  or'nary."  And  Tresler  meant 
to  deal  with  Jake  in  a  similar  manner.  The  rest  must 
be  left  to  the  circumstances  they  had  discussed. 

It  so  happened  that  Jake,  too,  was  late  abed  that 
morning.  Tresler  found  him  just  finishing  the  break- 
fast Jinks  had  brought  him.  Jake's  surly  '*  Come  in,'* 
in  response  to  his  knock,  brought  him  face  to  face  with 
the  last  man  he  desired  to  see  in  his  hut  at  that  mo- 
ment. And  Tresler  almost  laughed  aloud  as  the  great 
man  sprang  from  the  table,  nearly  overturning  it  in  his 
angry  haste. 

•'  It's  all  right,  Jake,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  *'  I  come 
in  peace." 

And  the  other  stood  for  a  moment  eyeing  him 
fiercely,  yet  not  knowing  quite  how  to  take  him. 
Without  waiting  for  an   invitation  his  visitor   seated 


THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE  237 

himself  on  the  end  of  the  bunk  and  stared  back 
squarely  into  the  angry  face.  It  did  him  good,  as  he 
remembered  the  events  of  the  night  before,  to  thus 
beard  this  man  who  hated  him  to  the  point  of  murder. 

He  waited  for  Jake  to  reply  ;  and  while  his  gaze 
wandered  over  the  cruel,  intolerant,  overbearing  face 
he  found  himself  speculating  as  to  the  caste  of  that 
which  lay  hidden  beneath  the  black,  coarse  mat  of 
beard. 

At  last  the  reply  came,  and  he  had  expected  no 
better. 

''What  in  h are  you  doin'  here?"  Jake  asked 

brutally.  Then,  as  an  afterthought,  "Why  ain't  you 
out  on  the  range  ?  " 

Tresler  permitted  himself  to  lounge  over  on  his 
elbow  and  cross  his  legs  with  an  aggravating  air  of 
ease. 

"  For  much  the  same  reason  that  you  are  only  just 
finishing  your  grub.     I  overslept  myself." 

And  he  watched  Jake  choke  back  the  furious  retort 
that  suddenly  leapt  to  his  lips.  It  was  evident,  even  to 
the  intolerant  disposition  of  the  foreman,  that  it  was  no 
time  for  abuse  and  anger.  This  man  had  come  to  him 
for  seme  particular  purpose,  and  it  behooved  him  to 
keep  guard  on  himself.  The  doings  of  the  night  be- 
fore were  in  his  mind,  and  he  realized  that  it  would  be 
well  to  meet  him  coolly.  Therefore,  instead  of  the  out- 
burst so  natural  to  him,  he  contented  himself  with  a 
cool  survey  of  his  antagonist,  while  he  put  a  non-com- 
mitting inquiry. 

"Wal?" 


238  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

And  Tresler  knew  that  his  presence  was  accepted, 
and  that  he  had  scored  the  first  point.  At  once  he  as« 
sumed  a  businesslike  air  He  sat  up  and  generally 
displayed  a  briskness  quite  out  of  keeping  with  his 
former  attitude. 

'*  I  suppose  I  ought  to  apologize  for  my  intrusion," 
he  began,  *'  but  when  you  have  heard  my  story,  you 
will  understand  its  necessity  I  had  a  busy  night  last 
night." 

If  he  had  expected  any  effect  from  this  announce- 
ment he  was  disappointed.  Jake's  face  never  for  a 
moment  relaxed  its  grim  look  of  attention. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  as  the  foreman  remained  silent. 
''  These  raiders — this  Red  Mask,  or  whatever  he  is 
called — I  saw  him  last  night.  I  saw  him  here  on  this 
ranch." 

Jake  stirred.  He  eyed  his  companion  as  though  he 
would  read  him  through  and  through. 

''You  saw — Red  Mask — last  night?"  he  said 
slowly. 

''  Yes.     I  saw  him  and  one  of  his  satellites." 

**Go  on."  It  was  all  the  man  vouchsafed,  but  it 
spoke  volumes. 

And  Tresler  at  once  proceeded  with  his  story  of  the 
midnight  visit  of  the  masked  rider  and  his  companion. 
He  told  his  story  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  being 
careful  to  omit  nothing,  and  laying  a  slight  stress  on 
his  own  rambling  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  house. 
He  was  very  careful  to  confine  himself  to  the  matter  of 
the  apparition,  avoiding  all  allusion  to  the  further  hap- 
penings of  the  night.     When  he  had  finished,  which 


THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE  239 

he  did  without  any  interruption  from  the  other,  Jake 
spoke  with  quiet  appreciation. 

"  An'  you've  brought  the  yarn  to  me.  For  any 
partic'lar  reason  ?  " 

Tresler  raised  his  eyebrows.  *'  Certainly,"  he  re- 
plied. "  You  are  foreman  of  the  ranch.  Mr.  Marbolt's 
interests  are  yours." 

"  That  being  so,  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  were  do- 
ing around  the  house  at  that  hour  of  the  night  ?"  was 
Jake's  prompt  retort. 

Tresler  had  looked  for  this.  He  knew  perfectly  well 
that  Jake  did  not  expect  his  question  to  be  answered. 
Didn't  particularly  want  it  answered.  It  was  simply 
to  serve  a  purpose.     He  was  trying  to  draw  him. 

''  That  is  my  affair,  Jake.  For  the  moment,  at  least, 
let  us  set  personalities  on  one  side.  No  doubt  we  have 
accounts  to  settle.  I  may  as  well  say  at  once  we  are 
in  each  other's  debt.  But  this  matter  I  am  speaking 
of  is  of  personal  interest  to  everybody  around  the  dis- 
trict." 

All  the  time  he  was  speaking,  Tresler  was  watching 
for  the  smallest  change  in  Jake's  manner.  And  as  he 
went  on  his  appreciation  of  the  fellow's  capability  rose. 
He  realized  that  Jake  was,  after  all,  something  more 
than  a  mass  of  beef  and  muscle.  As  no  comment  was 
forthcoming  he  went  on  rapidly. 

"  Now,  last  night's  apparition  was  not  altogether  new 
to  me.  I  saw  the  same  thing  the  first  night  I  arrived 
on  the  ranch,  but,  being  *  green  '  at  the  time,  it  lost  its 
significance.  Now,  it  is  different.  It  needs  explain- 
ing.    So  I  have  come  to  you.     But  I  have  not  come  to 


240  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

you  without  having  considered  the  matter  as  fully  as  it 
is  possible  for  one  in  my  position  to  do.  Mark  me 
carefully.  I  have  weighed  all  the  details  of  Red 
Mask's  raids  ;  considered  them  from  all  points.  Time 
and  place,  distance,  the  apparitions  around  the  ranch, 
for  those  ghostly  visitors  have,  at  times,  been  seen  in 
the  neighborhood  by  others.  And  all  these  things  so 
tally  that  they  have  produced  a  conviction  in  my  mind 
that  there  is  a  prime  mover  in  the  business  to  be  found 
on  this  ranch." 

"An'  the  prime  mover?  "  Jake's  interest  had  in  no 
way  relaxed.  He  seemed  to  be  eager  to  hear  every- 
thing Tresler  could  tell  him.     The  latter  shrugged. 

"  Who  is  there  on  this  ranch  that  cannot  at  all  times 
be  accounted  for?  Only  one  man.  Anton — Black 
Anton." 

A  pause  ensued.  Tresler  had  played  a  high  card. 
If  Jake  refused  to  be  drawn  it  would  be  awkward.  The 
pause  seemed  endless  and  he  was  forced  to  provoke  an 
answer. 

''  Well  ?  "  he  questioned  sharply. 

"  Well,"  echoed  the  foreman  ;  and  the  other  noted 
the  quiet  derision  in  his  tone,  "  seems  to  me  you've 
done  a  deal  of  figgering." 

Tresler  nodded. 

Jake  turned  away  with  something  very  like  a  smile. 
Evidently  he  had  decided  upon  the  course  to  be  pur- 
sued. Tresler,  watching  him,  could  not  quite  make 
up  his  mind  whether  he  was  playing  the  winning  hand, 
or  whether  his  opponent  was  finessing  for  the  odd  tn'ck. 
Jake  suddenly  became  expansive. 


THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE  241 

"  I'd  like  to  know  how  we're  standin'  before  we  go 
further,'*  he  said;  "though,  mind  you,  I  ain't  asking. 
I  tell  you  candidly  I  ain't  got  no  use  for  you,  and  I 
guess  it  w^ould  take  a  microscope  to  see  your  affection 
for  me.  This  bein'  so,  I  ask  myself,  what  has  this  feller 
come  around  with  his  yarn  to  me  for  ?  I  allow  there's 
two  possible  reasons  which  strike  me  as  bein'  of  any 
consequence.  One  is  that,  maybe,  some'eres  in  the 
back  of  your  head,  you've  a  notion  that  I  know  a  heap 
about  this  racket,  and  sort  o'  wink  at  it,  seein'  Mar- 
bolt's  blind,  an'  draw  a  bit  out  of  the  game.  And  the 
other  is,  you're  honest,  an'  tryin'  to  play  the  game 
right.  Now,  I'll  ask  you  not  to  get  plumb  scared  when 
I  tell  you  I  think  you're  dead  honest  about  this  thing. 
If  I  didn't — wal,  maybe  you'd  be  lit  out  of  this  shack 
by  now." 

Jake  reached  over  to  the  table  and  picked  up  a  plug  of 
tobacco  and  tore  off  a  chew  with  his  great  strong  teeth. 
And  Tresler  could  not  help  marveling  at  the  pincher- 
like  power  with  which  he  bit  through  the  plug. 

"  Now,  Tresler,  there's  that  between  us  that  can 
never  let  us  be  friends.  Vm  goin'  to  get  level  with  you 
some  day.  But  just  now,  as  you  said,  we  can  let 
things  bide.  I  say  you're  honest  in  this  thing,  and  if 
you  choose  to  be  honest  with  me  I'll  be  honest  with 
you." 

One  word  flashed  through  Tresler's brain :  "finesse." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  that  way,  Jake,"  he  said  seri- 
ously. "  My  object  is  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  mat- 
ter." 

It  was  a  neat  play  in  the  game,  the  way  in  which 


242  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

these  two  smoothed  each  other  down.  They  accepted 
each  other's  assurances  with  the  suavity  of  practiced 
lawyers,  each  without  an  atom  of  credence  or  good 
faith. 

"Just  so,"  Jake  responded,  with  a  ludicrous  attempt 
at  benignity.  *'  An'  it's  due  to  the  fact  that  you've 
been  smart  enough  to  light  on  the  right  trail,  that  Fm 
ready  to  tell  you  something  I've  been  holding  up  from 
everybody,  even  Marbolt  him.self.  Mind,  I  haven't  got 
the  dead-gut  cinch  on  these  folk  yet,  though  I'm  right 
on  to  'em,  sure.  Anton,  that's  the  feller.  I've  tracked 
him  from  the  other  side  of  the  line.  His  real  name's 
'  Tough '  McCulloch,  an'  I  guess  I  know  as  much  as 
there  is  lo  be  known  of  him  an'  his  history,  which  is 
pretty  rotten.  He's  wanted  in  Alberta  for  murder. 
Not  one,  but  half  a  dozen.  Say,  shall  I  tell  you  what 
he's  doin'  ?  He  rides  out  of  here  at  night,  an'  joins  a 
gang  of  scallywag  Breeds,  like  himself,  an'  they  are  the 
crowd  that  have  been  raiding  all  around  us.  And 
Anton — well,  I'd  like  to  gamble  my  last  dollar  he's  the 
fellow  wearing  the  Red  Mask.  Say,  i  knew  he  was 
out  last  night.  He  was  out  with  two  of  the  horses.  I 
was  around.  An'  at  daylight  I  went  up  to  the  stable 
while  he  was  sleepin',  an'  the  dog-gone  fool  hadn't 
cleaned  the  saddle  marks  from  their  backs.  Now,  if 
you're  feeling  like  bearin'  a  hand  in  lagging  this  black 

son-of-a I'm  with  you  fair  an'  square.     We  won't 

shake  hands,  for  good  reasons,  but  your  word'll  go  with 
me." 

'*  Nothing  would  suit  me  better." 

Tresler  was  struggling  to  fathom  the  man's  object. 


THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE  243 

"Good.  Now  we'll  quietly  go  up  to  the  stable. 
Maybe  you  can  tell  if  a  horse  has  been  recently  sad- 
dled, even  after  grooming?" 

-  Yes." 

''  Then  I'll  show  you.  An'  mind,  Marbolt  hasn't  or- 
dered one  of  his  private  horses  out.  Nor  ain't  Miss 
Diane.     It's  Anton." 

He  rose  and  prepared  to  depart,  but  Tresler  stayed 
him. 

"  One  moment,  Jake,"  he  said.  **  I  don't  wish  to 
give  offense,  but  tell  me  why,  if  you  have  discovered 
so  much  about  Anton,  have  you  let  these  things  go  on 
so  long  ?  Think  of  the  murder  of  Manson  Orr,  of  Ari- 
zona's wound,  of  the  dozen  and  one  outrages  of  which 
even  I  am  aware." 

Jake  stood  silently  contemplating  him  for  a  while. 
Nor  was  there  any  sign  of  his  swift  anger.  He  smiled 
faintly,  and  again  Tresler  noted  the  nasty  tone  of  deri- 
sion in  his  voice  when  he  answered. 

"  I  thought  maybe  you'd  learnt  a  deal  out  here 
where  you  find  everybody  on  their  own.  I  thought 
you'd  p'r'aps  learned  that  it  ain't  wise  to  raise  trouble 
till  you've  got  the  business  end  of  your  gun  pointin' 
right.  Can't  you  see  there's  not  a  cent's  worth  of 
evidence  against  the  man  yet?  Have  you  ever 
heard  where  he  runs  his  cattle?  Has  anybody?  Has 
any  one  ever  seen  under  that  mask  ?  Has  any 
one  been  found  who  could  identify  even  his  figure? 
No.  Red  Mask  is  a  will-o'-the-wisp.  He's  a  ghost ; 
and  it's  our  business  to  find  the  body  o'  that  ghost. 
Fm  not  the  fool  to  go  around  to  Anton  and  say,  *  You 


244  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

are  Red  Mask.'  He'd  laugh  in  my  face.  An'  later  on 
I  guess  I'd  be  targettin'  a  shot  for  him.  What  it  I 
rounded  to  the  gove'nor  an'  got  him  fired  ?  It  would  be 
the  worst  possible.  Keepin'  him  here,  and  lying  low, 
we  have  a  chance  of  puttin'  him  out  of  business.  No, 
sir,  we're  dealin'  with  the  smartest  crook  west  of  Chi- 
cago. But  ril  have  him  ;  we'll  get  him.  I  never  was 
bested  yet.  An'  I'll  have  him,  same  as  I  get  any  other 
guy  that  crosses  me.     Let's  get  on." 

They  moved  out  of  the  hut. 

'*  It's  been  taking  you  some  time,  already,"  Tresler 
suggested  with  a  smile,  as  they  moved  across  the  open. 

Jake  took  no  umbrage.  His  dark  face  responded 
with  a  sardonic  grin,  and  his  eyes  were  fiercely  alight. 

''  Tchah  1 "  he  ejaculated  impatiendy.  "  Say,  you 
never  heard  tell  of  a  feller  getdn'  his  own  good,  an' 
gettin'  it  quick.  Catde-thieves  ain't  easy  handlin',  an' 
I  don't  jump  till  I'm  riled." 

Tresler  made  no  answer,  and  the  two  reached  the 
stable  without  exchanging  another  word.  Inside  they 
found  Anton  at  work,  cleaning  harness.  He  looked 
up  as  they  came  in,  and  Tresler  eyed  him  with  a  re- 
new^ed  interest.  And  the  man's  face  was  worth  study- 
ing. There  was  no  smile,  no  light  in  it,  and  even  very 
little  interest.  His  smooth,  tawny  skin  and  aquiline 
features,  his  black  hair  and  blacker  eyes,  in  their  dark 
setting,  had  a  devilish  look  to  Tresler's  imaginadon. 
He  even  found  himself  wondering  where  the  good 
looks  he  had  observed  when  they  met  before  had  van- 
ished to.  Jake  nodded  to  him  and  passed  into  Bessie's 
stall  at  once. 


THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE  245 

**  This  is  the  mare,  Tresler,  the  dandiest  thing  ever 
bred  on  this  ranch.  Look  at  her  points.  See  the  coai, 
its  color.  Red  roan,  with  legs  as  black  as  soot.  Say, 
she's  a  picture.  Now  I  guess  she'd  fetch  a  couple  of 
hundred  dollars  away  down  east  where  you  come 
from." 

He  said  all  this  for  Anton's  benefit  while  he  smoothed 
his  hand  over  Bessie's  back.  Tresler  followed  suit, 
feeling  for  the  impression  of  the  saddle-cloth  in  the 
hair.  It  was  there,  and  he  went  on  inspecting  the  legs, 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur.  The  other  saddle-horse 
they  treated  in  the  same  way,  but  the  drivers  were  left 
alone.  For  some  minutes  they  stood  discussing  the 
two  animals  and  then  passed  out  again.  Anton  had 
displayed  not  the  least  interest  in  their  doings,  al- 
though nothing  had  escaped  his  keen,  swift-moving 
eyes. 

Once  out  of  ear-shot  Jake  turned  to  Tresler. 

"Wal?'* 

*'  The  horses  have  both  been  saddled." 

**  Good.  Now  we've  got  the  thing  plumb  located. 
You  heard  them  gassin'  at  the  stable.  You  heard  'em 
slam  the  door.  You  saw  the  two  come  along.  An* 
one  of  'em  must  have  been  Anton.  Leastways  he 
must  have  let  'em  have  the  bosses.  I  guess  that's  an 
alternative.  I  say  Anton  was  up  on  one  of  them 
nosses,  an'  the  other  was  some  gorl  durned  Breed  mate 
01  his.  Good.  We're  goin'  right  on  to  see  the  gov- 
ernor." 

"  What  to  do  ?  "  asked  Tresler. 

*'To  give  him  your  yarn,"  Jake  said  shortly. 


246  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

They  were  half-way  to  the  house  when  the  foreman 
suddenly  halted  and  stared  out  over  the  lower  ranch 
buildings  at  the  distant  pastures.  Tresler  was  slightly 
behind  him  as  he  stood,  and  only  had  a  sight  of  the 
man's  profile.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  looking  at  any 
particular  object.  His  attitude  was  one  of  thoughtful 
introspection.  Tresler  waited.  Things  were  turning 
out  better  than  he  had  hoped,  and  he  had  no  wish  but 
to  let  the  arbiter  of  the  situation  take  his  own  way. 
He  began  to  think  that,  whatever  Jake's  ulterior  object 
might  be,  he  was  in  earnest  about  Anton. 

At  last  his  companion  grunted  and  turned,  and  he 
saw  at  once  that  the  artificial  comradeship  of  his  man- 
ner had  lifted,  and  the  "  Jake  "  he  had  already  learned 
to  understand  was  dominant  again.  He  saw^  the 
vicious  setting  of  the  brows,  the  fiery  eyes.  He  quite 
understood  that  self-control  was  the  weakest  side  of 
this  man's  character,  and  could  not  long  withstand  the 
more  powerful  bullying  nature  that  swayed  him. 

"  I  asked  you  a  question  back  there,"  he  said,  jerk- 
ing his  head  in  the  direction  of  his  hut,  **  an'  you  said 
it  was  your  affair ;  £^'  we'd  best  let  personalities  stand 
for  the  moment.  I'd  like  an  answer  before  we  go 
further.  You  reckon  to  be  honest,  I  guess.  Wal, 
now's  your  chance.  Tell  me  to  my  face  what  I've 
learned  for  myself.  What  were  you  doin'  round 
here  last  night  ?  What  were  you  doin'  in  Marbolt's 
kitchen  ?  " 

Tresler  understood  the  motive  of  the  man's  insist- 
ence now.  Jake  was  showing  him  a  side  of  his  char- 
acter he  had  hardly  suspected.     It  was  the  human  na- 


THE  BEARDING  OF  JAKE  247 

ture  in  the  man  asking  for  a  confirmation  of  his  worst 
fears,  in  reality  his  worst  knowledge.  For  he  was  well 
aware  that  Jake  had  witnessed  the  scene  in  the  kitchen. 

''  As  I  said  before,  it  is  my  affair,"  he  responded, 
with  an  assumption  of  indifference.  "  Still,  since  you 
insist,  you  may  as  well  know  first  as  last.  I  went  to 
see  Miss  Diane.     I  saw  her " 

"  An'  ? "  There  was  a  tense  restraint  in  the  mono- 
syllable. 

Tresler  shrugged.  **  Miss  Marbolt  is  my  promised 
wife." 

There  was  a  deathly  silence  after  his  announcement 
Tresler  looked  out  over  the  ranch.  He  seemed  to  see 
everything  about  him  at  once  ;  even  Jake  was  in  the 
strained  focus,  although  he  was  not  looking  at  him. 
His  nerves  were  strung,  and  seemed  as  though  they 
were  held  in  a  vice.  He  thought  he  could  even  hear 
the  sound  of  his  own  temples  beating.  He  had  no 
fear,  but  he  was  expectant. 

Then  Jake  broke  the  silence,  and  his  voice,  though 
harsh,  was  low  ;  it  was  mufHed  with  a  throatiness 
caused  by  the  passion  that  moved  him. 

''  You'll  never  marry  that  gal,"  he  said. 

And  Tresler  was  round  on  him  in  an  instant,  and  his 
face  was  alight  with  a  cold  smile. 

''  I  will,"  he  said. 

And  then  Jake  moved  on  with  somxething  very  like  a 
rush.  And  Tresler  followed.  His  smile  was  still  upon 
his  face.  But  it  was  there  of  its  own  accord^  a  nervous 
mask  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  thougtics  pass- 
ing behind  it. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW 

Tresler  was  in  no  way  blind  to  the  quality  of  the 
armistice  that  had  been  arranged  between  himself  and 
Jake.  He  knew  full  well  that  that  peaceful  interim 
would  be  used  by  Jake  to  raise  earthworks  of  the 
earthiest  kind,  and  to  train  his  guns  with  deadly  ac- 
curacy upon  his  enemy.  Well,  so  he  wanted.  His 
purpose  was  to  draw  his  adversary's  fire  directly  upon 
himself.  As  he  had  said,  to  do  anything  to  help  the 
girl  he  loved,  he  must  himself  be  in  the  fighting  line. 
And  from  the  moment  of  his  doubtful  compact  with 
Jake  he  felt  that  he  was  not  only  in  the  fighting  line, 
but  that,  if  all  he  had  heard  on  the  subject  of  Red 
Mask  was  true,  he  would  become  the  centre  of  attack. 
There  was  a  pleasant  feeling  of  excitement  and  uncer- 
tainty in  his  position,  and  he  followed  Jake  all  the  more 
eagerly  to  the  presence  of  the  rancher,  only  wondering 
in  what  manner  the  forthcoming  interview  was  to  atfect 
matters. 

Julian  Marbolt  had  not  left  his  bedroom  when  they 
arrived  at  the  house.  Diane,  looking  a  little  anxious 
when  she  saw  these  two  together,  showed  them  into 
her  father's  ofBce.  She  was  half  disposed  to  refuse 
Jake's  request  that  she  should  summon  the  blind  man, 
but  a  smihng  nod  from  Tresler  decided  her. 


A  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW  249 

"Very  well,  Jake,"  she  replied  coldly.  "You  won't 
best  please  father  unless  the  matter  is  important." 
This  was  said  merely  to  conceal  her  real  knowledge  of 
the  object  of  the  visit. 

If  Jake  understood  he  gave  no  sign.  But  he  had 
seen  and  resented  the  silent  assurance  Tresler  had 
given  her.  His  angry  -eyes  watched  her  as  she  went 
off ;  and  as  she  disappeared  he  turned  to  his  compan- 
ion, who  had  seated  himself  by  the  window. 

"  Guess  you  ain't  figgered  on  the  *  old  man '  'bout 
her?"  he  said. 

"  That,  I  think,  is  strictiy  my  affair,"  Tresler  replied 
coldly. 

Jake  laughed,  and  sat  down  near  the  door.  The  an- 
swer had  no  effect  on  him. 

"Say,  I  guess  you  ain't  never  had  a  cyclone  hit 
you?"  he  asked  maliciously.  "It'll  be  interestin'  to 
see  when  you  tell  him.     Maybe " 

Whatever  he  v/as  about  to  say  was  cut  short  by  the 
approach  of  the  rancher.  And  it  was  wonderful  the 
change  that  came  over  the  man  as  he  sat  listening  to 
the  tap-tap  of  the  blind  man's  stick  in  the  passage. 
He  watched  the  door  uneasily,  and  there  was  a  short 
breathless  attention  about  him.  Tresler,  watching, 
could  not  help  thinking  of  the  approach  of  some  East- 
ern potentate,  with  his  waiting  courtiers  and  subjects 
rubbing  their  faces  in  the  dust  lest  his  wrath  should  be 
visited  upon  them.  He  admitted  that  Jake's  attitude 
just  now  was  his  true  one. 

At  the  door  Julian  Marbolt  stood  for  a  moment,  do- 
ing by  means  of  his  wonderful  hearing  what  his  eyes 


250  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

failed  to  do  for  him.     And  the  marvel  of  it  was  that  he 

faced  accurately,  first  toward  Tresler,  then  toward  Jake. 
He  stood  like  some  tall,  ascetic,  gray-headed  priest, 
garbed  in  a  dressing-gown  that  needed  but  little  imag- 
ination to  convert  into  a  cassock.  And  the  picture  of 
benevolence  he  made  was  only  marred  by  the  staring 
of  his  dreadful  eyes. 

"  Well,  Jake  ? "  he  said,  in  subdued,  gentle  tones. 
'*  What  trouble  has  brought  you  round  here  at  this 
hour?'' 

"Trouble  enough,"  Jake  responded,  with  a  slight 
laugh.     "  Tresler  here  brings  it,  though." 

The  blind  man  turned  toward  the  vindow  and  in- 
stinctively focussed  the  younger  man,  and  somehow 
Tresler  shivered  as  with  a  cold  draught  when  the 
sightless  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  him. 

"Ah,  you  Tresler.  Well,  we'll  hear  all  about  it." 
Marbolt  moved  slowly,  though  without  the  aid  of  his 
stick  now,  over  to  the  table,  and  seated  himself. 

"  It's  the  old  trouble,"  said  Jake,  when  his  master 
had  settled  himself.  "The  cattle  'duffers.'  They're 
gettin'  busy — busy  around  this  ranch  again." 

"  Well  ?  "  Marbolt  turned  to  Tresler  ;  his  action  was 
a  decided  snub  to  Jake. 

Tresler  took  his  cue  and  began  his  story.  He  told 
it  almost  exactly  as  he  had  told  it  to  Jake,  but  with 
one  slight  difference  :  he  gave  no  undue  emphasis  to 
his  presence  in  the  vicinity  of  the  house.  And  Mar- 
bolt listened  closely,  the  frowning  brows  bespeaking 
nis  concentration,  and  his  unmoving  eyes  his  fixed  at- 
tention.    He  listened  apparently  unmoved  to  every  de- 


A  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW  25! 

tail,  and  displayed  a  wonderful  patience  while  Tresler 
went  point  for  point  over  his  arguments  in  favor  of  his 
suspicions  of  Anton.  Once  only  he  permitted  his 
sighdess  glance  to  pass  in  Jake's  direction,  and  that 
was  at  the  linking  of  the  foreman's  name  with  Tresler's 
suspicions.  As  his  story  came  to  an  end  the  blind  man 
rested  one  elbow  on  the  table,  and  propped  his  chin 
upon  his  hand.  The  other  hand  coming  into  contact 
with  a  ruler  lying  adjacent,  he  picked  it  up  and 
thoughtfully  tapped  the  table,  while  the  two  men 
waited  for  him  to  speak. 

At  last  he  turned  toward  his  foreman,  and,  with  an 
impressive  gesture,  indicated  Tresler. 

"  This  story  is  nothing  new  to  us,  Jake,"  he  said. 
Then  for  a  moment  his  voice  dropped,  and  took  on  a 
pained  tone.  "  I  only  wish  it  were  ;  then  we  could  af- 
ford to  laugh  at  it.  No,  there  can  be  no  laughing  here. 
Past  experience  has  taught  us  that.  It  is  a  matter  of 
the  greatest  seriousness — danger.  So  much  for  the 
main  features.  But  there  are  side  issues,  suspicions 
you  have  formed,"  turning  back  to  Tresler,  '*  which  I 
cannot  altogether  accept.  Mind,  I  do  not  say  flatly 
that  you  are  wrong,  but  I  cannot  accept  them  without 
question. 

*'  Jake  here  has  had  suspicions  of  Anton.  I  know 
that,  though  he  has  never  asserted  them  to  me  in  so 
direct  a  fashion  as  apparendy  he  has  to  you."  He 
paused :  then  he  went  on  in  an  introspective  manner. 
**  I  am  getting  on  in  years.  I  have  already  had  a  good 
innings  right  here  on  this  ranch.  I  have  watched  the 
country  develop.     I  have  seen  the  settlers  come,  sow 


252  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

the  seeds  of  their  homesteads  and  small  ranches,  and 
watched  the  crop  grow.  I  have  rented  them  grazing. 
I  have  sold  them  stock.  I  have  made  money,  and 
they  have  made  money,  and  the  country  has  prospered. 
It  is  good  to  see  these  things ;  good  for  me,  especially^ 
for  I  was  the  first  here.  I  have  been  lord  of  the  land, 
and  Jake  my  lieutenant.  The  old  Indian  days  have 
gone,  and  I  have  looked  for  nothing  but  peace  and 
prosperity.  I  wanted  prosperity,  for  I  admit  I  love  it. 
I  am  a  business  man,  and  I  do  everything  in  connec- 
tion with  this  ranch  on  a  sound  business  basis.  Not 
like  many  of  those  about  me.  In  short,  I  am  here  to 
make  money.     And  why  not  ?     I  own  the  land." 

The  last  was  said  as  though  in  argument.  Tresler 
could  not  help  being  struck  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
alluded  to  the  making  of  money.  There  was  an  air  of 
the  miser  about  him  when  he  spoke  of  it,  a  hardness 
about  the  mouth  which  the  close-trimmed  beard  made 
no  pretense  of  concealing.  And  there  was  a  world  of 
arrogance  in  the  way  he  said,  **  I  own  the  land."  How- 
ever, he  was  given  no  time  for  further  observation,  for 
Marbolt  seemed  to  realize  his  own  digression  and  came 
back  abruptly  to  the  object  of  his  discourse. 

**Then  this  spectre,  Red  Mask,  comes  along.  He 
moves  with  the  mystery  of  the  Wandering  Jew,  and, 
like  that  imaginary  person,  scourges  the  country  wher- 
ever he  goes,  only  in  a  different  manner.  Anton  had 
been  with  me  three  years  when  this  raider  appeared. 
Since  then  there  have  been  no  less  than  twenty-eight 
robberies,  accompanied  more  or  less  by  manslaughter." 
He  became  more  animated  and  leaned  forward  in  his 


A  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW  253 

chair,  pointing  the  ruler  he  still  held  in  his  hand  at 
Tresler  as  he  named  the  figures.  His  red  eyes  seemed 
to  stare  harder  and  his  heavy  brows  to  knit  more 
closely  across  his  forehead.  '*  Yes,"  he  reiterated, 
"twenty-eight  robberies.  And  I,  with  others,  have 
estimated  the  number  and  value  of  stock  that  has  been 
lost  to  this  scoundrel.  In  round  figures  five  thousand 
head  of  cattle,  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
whisked  away,  spirited  out  of  this  district  alone  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years.  One  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars ;  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,"  he 
mouthed  the  words  as  though  he  delighted  in  the 
sound  of  so  large  a  sum  of  money.  Then  his  whole 
manner  changed.  A  fiend  could  not  have  looked  more 
vicious.  "  And  in  all  I  have  lost  five  hundred  beeves 
to  him.  Five  hundred,"  he  cried,  his  voice  high- 
pitched  in  his  anger,  "  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  besides 
horses,  and — and  some  of  my  men  wounded,  even 
killed.^' 

Again  he  ceased  speaking,  and  relapsed  into  a 
brooding  attitude.  And  the  two  men  watched  him. 
His  personality  fascinated  Tresler.  He  even  began  to 
understand  something  of  the  general  fear  he  inspired. 
He  thought  of  Jake  who  had  been  so  many  years  with 
him,  and  he  thought  he  understood  something  of  the 
condition  he  must  inspire  in  any  one  of  no  great  moral 
strength  who  remained  with  him  long.  Then  he 
thought  of  Diane,  and  moved  uneasily.  He  remem- 
bered Jake's  allusion  to  a  cyclone. 

At  Tresler's  movement  the  blind  man  roused  at  once 
and  proceeded  with  his  story. 


254  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

**  And  he  roams  this  country  at  large,  unchecked, 
unopposed.  Working  his  will  whithersoever  he  fancies, 
unseen,  unknown  but  for  his  sobriquet.  And  you 
claim  he  and  Anton  are  one.  This  great  man — for  in 
his  way  he  is  great,  head  and  shoulders  above  all  other 
criminals,  by  reason  of  the  extent  of  his  exploits. 
Pshaw  !  " — his  tone  was  scoffing — "  let  me  tell  you,  on 
three  different  nights  when  this  monster  was  abroad, 
carrying  destruction  in  his  path,  Anton  was  driving 
me.  Or,  at  least,  was  with  me,  having  driven  me  into 
Forks  on  one  occasion,  and  twice  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Whitewater.  No,  I  am  aware  that  Anton  is  a  black- 
leg, or  has  been  one,  but  he  has  served  me  well  and 
truly  since  he  has  been  my  servant.  As  for  the  sad- 
dle-marks," he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  his  gentle 
smile  returned  slowly  to  his  face.  "  No,  no,  Tresler, 
that  is  insufficient.  Remember,  Anton  is  a  Breed,  a 
young  man,  and,  as  Breeds  go,  good-looking.  There 
is  a  Breed  camp  in  the  neighborhood  where  they  in- 
dulge in  all  the  puskies  and  orgies  native  to  them. 
We  must  question  him.  I  expect  he  has  taken  French 
leave  with  my  horses." 

"  But  you  forget  the  Breed  camp  has  gone,"  put  in 
Jake  quickly.  "  Since  the  comin'  of  the  sheriff  and  his 
men  to  Forks  they've  cleared  out,  and,  as  yet,  we  ain't 
located  'em.     I  expect  it's  the  hills." 

"  Just  so,  Jake,"  replied  Marbolt,  turning  to  the  fore- 
man coldly.  "  I  forgot  that  you  told  me  of  it  before. 
But  that  makes  little  difference.  I  have  no  doubt 
Anton  knows  v/here  they  are.  Now,"  he  went  on, 
turning  again  to  Tresler,  **  I  hold  no  brief  for  Anton  in 


rV  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW  255 

particular,  if  I  thought  for  a  moment  it  were  so,"  a 
sudden  storm  of  vindictiveness  leapt  into  his  tone,.  "  I 
would  hound  him  down,  and  be  near  while  they  hung 
him  slowly  to  death  on  one  of  our  own  trees.  I  would 
willingly  stand  by  while  he  was  put  to  the  worst  pos- 
sible tortures,  and  revel  in  his  cries  of  agony.  Don't 
mistake  me.  If  you  could  prove  Anton  to  be  the 
rascal,  he  should  die,  whatever  the  consequences.  We 
would  wait  for  no  law.  But  you  are  all  on  the  wrong 
trail,  I  feel  sure." 

He  had  dropped  back  into  his  old  soft-spoken  man- 
ner, and  Tresler  felt  like  hating  him  for  the  vileness  of 
the  nature  he  displayed. 

**  You  plead  well  for  Anton,  Mr.  Marbolt,"  he  could 
not  help  saying,  "  but  after  what  I  heard  last  night,  I 
cannot  believe  he  is  not  in  league  with  these  people." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  remark,  and  brought  the  bit- 
ing answer  that  might  have  been  expected. 

"  I  plead  for  no  man,  Tresler.  Most  certainly  not 
for  a  Breed.  I  show  you  where  you  are  wrong.  Your 
inexperience  is  lamentable,  but  you  cannot  help  it." 
He  paused,  but  went  on  again  almost  at  once.  ''  Since 
I  cannot  persuade  you,  go  with  your  story  to  the 
sherifiF.  Let  him  judge  of  your  evidence,  and  if  a  man 
of  Fyles's  undoubted  skill  and  shrewdness  acts  upon  it, 
I'll  pay  you  one  hundred  dollars." 

Tresler  saw  the  force  of  the  other's  reply,  but  re- 
sented the  tone,  while  he  still  remained  utterly  uncon- 
vinced of  Anton's  innocence.  Perhaps  the  blind  man 
realized  his  unnecessary  harshness,  for  he  quickly 
veered  round  again  to  his  low-voiced  benignity.     And 


256  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Jake,  interested  but  silent,  sat  watching  his  master  with 
an  inscrutable  look  in  his  bold  eyes  and  a  half  smile 
on  his  hard  face^ 

'*  No,  Tresler,"  he  said,  "  we  can  set  all  that  part  oi 
It  on  one  side.  You  did  quite  right  to  come  ^:o  me, 
though,"  he  added  hastily ;  *'  I  thank  you  heartily. 
From  past  experience  we  have  learned  that  your  ap- 
parition means  mischief.  It  means  that  a  raiding 
expedition  is  afoot.  Maybe  it  was  committed  last 
night.  1  suppose,"  turning  to  Jake,  '*  you  have  not 
heard  ?  " 

"  No.'*     Jake  shook  his  head. 

*'  Well,  we  are  forewarned,  thanks  to  you,  Tresler,^* 
the  other  went  on  gravely.  **  And  it  shan't  be  my 
fault  if  we  are  not  forearmed.  We  must  send  a 
warning  round  to  the  nearest  homesteads.  I  really 
don't  know  what  will  happen  if  this  goes  on  much 
.onger." 

**  Why  not  take  concerted  action  ?  Why  not  resort 
to  what  was  recently  suggested— a  vigilance  party  ?  " 
Tresler  put  in  quickly. 

The  other  shook  his  head  and  turned  to  Jake  for 
support.  But  none  was  forthcoming.  Jake  was  watch- 
ing that  strong  sightless  face,  gazing  into  it  with  a  look 
of  bitter  hatred  and  sinister  intentness.  This  change 
so  astonished  Tresler  that  he  paid  no  attention  to  the 
rancher's  reply. 

And  at  once  Marbolt's  peculiar  instinct  asserted  itself. 
He  faced  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  perplexed  frown, 
and  as  his  red  eyes  fell  finally  upon  the  foreman,  that  in- 
dividual's whole  expression  was  instantly  transformed  to 


A  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW  257 

one  of  confusion.  And  Tresler  could  not  help  calling  ta 
mind  the  schoolboy  detected  in  some  misdemeanor.  At 
first  the  confusion,  then  the  attempt  at  bland  innocence, 
followed  by  dogged  suUenness.  It  was  evident  that 
Jake's  conscience  blinded  him  to  the  fact  of  the  other's 
sightless  gaze. 

"  What  say  you,  Jake?  We  can  only  leave  it  to  the 
sheriff  and  be  on  our  guard." 

The  foreman  fumbled  out  his  reply  almost  too 
eagerly. 

**  Yes,"  he  said,  "  sure ;  we  must  be  on  our  guard. 
Guess  we'd  better  send  out  night  guards  to  the  differ- 
ent stations."  He  stretched  himself  wdth  an  assump- 
tion of  ease.  Then'  suddenly  he  sat  bolt  upright  and  a 
peculiar  expression  came  nito  his  eyes.  Tresler  de- 
tected the  half  smile  and  the  side  glance  in  his  ow^n 
direction.  "Yes,"  he  went  on,  composedly  enough 
now,  "  partic'larly  Willow  Bluff." 

"  Why  Willow  Bluff?  "  asked  the  rancher,  with  some 
perplexity. 

"  Why  ?  Why  ?  Because  w^e're  waitin'  to  ship  them 
two  hundred  beeves  to  the  coast.  They*re  sold,  you 
remember,  an'  ther's  only  them  two  Breeds,  Jim  an* 
Lag  Henderson,  in  charge  of  'em.  Why,  it  'ud  be  pie, 
a  dead  soft  snap  fer  Red  Mask's  gang.  An'  the  sta- 
tion's that  lonesome.     All  o'  twenty  mile  from  here." 

Julian  Marbolt  sat  thinking  for  a  moment.  "  Yes, 
you're  right,"  he  agreed  at  last.  "We'll  send  out 
extra  night  guards.  And  you'd  best  detail  two  good, 
reliable  men  for  a  few  days  at  Willow  Bluff.  Only 
t;horoughly  reliable  men,  mind.     You  see  to  it." 


358  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Jake  turned  to  Tresler  at  once,  his  face  beaming  with 
a  malicious  grin.  And  the  latter  understood.  But  he 
w3iS  not  prepared  for  the  skilful  trap  which  his  arch- 
enemy was  baiting  for  him,  and  into  which  he  was  to 
promptly  fall. 

"  How'd  it  suit  you,  Tresler?"  he  asked.  Then 
without  waiting  for  a  reply  he  went  on,  "  But  ther',  I 
guess  it  wouldn't  do  sendin'  you.  You  ain't  the  sort 
to  get  scrappin'  hoss  thieves.  It  wants  grit.  It's 
tough  work  an'  needs  tough  men.     Pshaw  ! " 

Tresler' s  blood  was  up  in  a  moment.  He  forgot  dis- 
cretion and  everything  else  under  the  taunt. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  wouldn't  do,  Jake,"  he  retorted 
promptly.  "  It  seems  to  me  your  remarks  come  badly 
from  a  man  who  has  reason  to  know — to  remember — 
that  I  am  capable  of  holding  my  own  with  most  men, 
even  those  big  enough  to  eat  me." 

He  saw  his  blunder  even  while  he  was  speaking. 
But  he  was  red-hot  with  indignation  and  didn't  care  a 
jot  for  the  consequences.  And  Jake  came  at  him.  If 
the  foreman's  taunt  had  roused  him,  it  was  nothing  to 
the  effect  of  his  reply.  Jake  crossed  the  room  in  a 
couple  of  strides  and  his  furious  face  was  thrust  close 
into  Tresler's,  and,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  passion,  he 
fairly  gasped  at  him  — 

''  I  ain't  fergot.     An'  by  G " 

But  he  got  no  further.  A  movement  on  the  part  of 
the  rancher  interrupted  him.  Before  he  realized  what 
was  happening  the  blind  man  was  at  his  side  with  a 
grip  on  his  arm  that  made  him  wince. 

"Stop  it!"   he  cried  fiercely.     **  Stop  it,  you  fool! 


A  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW  259 

Another  word  and,  blind  as  I  am,  I'll "  Jake  strug- 
gled to  release  himself,  but  Marbolt  held  him  with  al- 
most superhuman  strength  and  slowly  backed  him  from 
his  intended  victim.  *' Back !  Do  you  hear?  I'll 
have  no  murder  done  in  here — unless  I  do  it  my- 
self. Get  back — back,  blast  youl"  And  Jake  was 
slowly,  in  spite  of  his  continued  struggles,  thrust  against 
the  wall.  And  then,  as  he  still  resisted,  Marbolt  pushed 
the  muzzle  of  a  revolver  against  his  face.  "  I'll  drop 
you  like  a  hog,  if  you  don't " 

But  the  compelling  weapon  had  instant  effect,  and 
the  foreman's  resistance  died  out  weakly. 

The  whole  scene  had  occurred  so  swiftly  that  Tresler 
simply  stood  aghast.  The  agility,  the  wonderful  sure- 
ness  and  rapidity  of  movement  on  Marbolt's  part  were 
staggering.  The  whole  thing  seemed  impossible,  and 
yet  he  had  seen  it ;  and  the  meaning  of  the  stories  of 
this  man  he  had  Hstened  to  came  home  to  him.  He 
was,  indeed,  something  to  fear.  The  great  bullying 
Jake  was  a  child  in  his  hands.  Now  like  a  whipped 
child,  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  a  picture  of 
hate  and  fury. 

With  Jake  silenced  Marbolt  turned  on  him.  Hi§ 
words  were  few  but  sufficient. 

"  And  as  for  you,  Tresler,"  he  said  coldly,  "  keep 
that  tongue  of  yours  easy.     I  am  master  here," 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  then  the  rancher  returned 
to  the  subject  that  had  caused  the  struggle. 

"  Well,  what  about  the  men  for  Willow  BlufT,  Jake?*' 

It  was  Tresler  who  answered  the  question,  and  with' 
out  a  moment's  hesitation. 


26o  THE  NlGHl-RlDERS 

**  I  should  like  to  go  out  there,  Mr.  Marbolt.     Espe 
dally  if  there's  likely  to  be  trouble." 

It  was  the  only  position  possible  for  him  after  what 
had  gone  before,  and  he  knew  it.  He  glanced  at  Jake 
and  saw'  that,  for  the  moment  at  least,  his  hatred  for 
his  employer  had  been  set  aside.  He  was  smilhig  a 
sort  of  tigerish  smile. 

"Very  well,  Tresler,"  responded  the  rancher.  "  And 
you  can  choose  your  own  companion.  You  can  go 
and  get  ready,  Jake,"  turning  to  the  other,  "  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

Tresier  went  out,  feeling  that  he  had  made  a  mess 
of  things.  He  gave  Jake  credit  for  his  cleverness, 
quite  appreciating  the  undying  hate  that  prompted  it. 
But  the  thing  that  w^as  most  prominent  in  his  thoughts 
was  the  display  the  blind  man  had  given  him.  He 
smiled  when  he  thought  of  Jake's  boasted  threats  to 
Diane ;  how  impotent  they  seemed  now.  But  the  smile 
died  out  when  he  remembered  he,  himself,  had  yet  to 
face  the  rancher  on  the  delicate  subject  of  his  daughter. 
He  remembered  only  too  well  Jake's  reference  to  a  cy- 
clone, and  he  made  his  way  to  the  bunkhouse  with  no 
very  enlivening  thoughts. 

In  the  meantime  the  two  men  he  had  just  left  re- 
mained silent  until  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had  quite 
died  out.     Then  Marbolt  spoke. 

**  Jake,  you  are  a  damned  idiot ! "  he  said  abruptly. 

The  foreman  made  no  answer  and  the  other 
went  on. 

"  Why  can't  you  leave  the  boy  alone  ?  He's  harm- 
less :  besides  he's  useful  to  mcr— to  us." 


A  PORTENTOUS  INTERVIEW  261 

"Harmless — useful?"  Jake  laughed  bitterly.  "Pshaw, 
I  guess  your  blindness  is  gettin'  round  your  brains  ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  it  'ud  have  been  better  if  you'd  let  me — 
wipe  him  out.     Better  for  us — for  you.'' 

"I  don't  see;  you  forget  his  money/'  The  blind 
man's  tone  was  very  low.  **  You  forget  he  intends  ta 
buy  a  ranch  and  stock.  You  forget  that  he  has  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  to  expend.  Bah  1  Fll  never  make 
a  business  man  of  yoUo" 

"And  what  about  your  girl?"  Jake  asked,  quite  un- 
moved by  the  other's  explanation, 

"My  girl?"  Marbolt  laughed  softly.  "You  are 
always  harping  on  that.  He  will  leave  my  girl  alone. 
She  knows  my  wishes,  and  will — shall  obey  me,  I 
don't  care  a  curse  about  him  or  his  affairs.  But  I  want 
his  money,  and  if  you  will  only  see  to  your  diabolical 
temper,  I'll — we'll  have  it.  Your  share  stands  good  in 
this  as  in  all  other  deals." 

It  was  the  foreman's  turn  to  laugh.  But  there  was 
no  mirth  in  it.  It  stopped  as  suddenly  as  it  began,  cut 
off  short. 

"He  will  leave  your  girl  alone,  will  he?"  he  said, 
with  a  sneer.  "  Say,  d'you  know  what  he  was  doin' 
around  this  house  last  night  when  he  saw  those  hoss- 
thief  guys,  or  shall  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"You'd  better  tell  me,"  replied  the  rancher, 
coldly. 

"  He  was  after  your  girl  Say,  an'  what's  more,  he 
saw  her.  An'  what's  still  more,  she's  promised  to  be 
his  wife.     He  told  me." 


262  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

**  What's  that  ?  Say  it  again."  There  was  an  omi- 
nous calmness  in  the  blind  man's  manner. 

*'  I  said  he  was  after  your  girl,  saw  her,  and  she's — 
promised — to — be — his — wife." 

-Ah!" 

Then  there  was  a  silence  for  some  minutes.  The  red 
eyes  were  frowning  in  the  direction  of  the  window. 
At  last  the  man  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  Jake,  watch- 
ing him,  wondered  what  was  coming. 

*'ril  see  her,"  he  said  slowly,  "and  I'll  see  him — 
after  he  comes  back  from  Willow  Bluff." 

That  was  all,  but  Jake,  accustomed  to  Julian  Mar- 
bolt's  every  mood,  read  a  deal  more  than  the  words  ex- 
pressed. He  waited  for  what  else  might  be  coming,  but 
only  received  a  curt  dismissal  in  tones  so  sharp  that  he 
hurried  out  of  the  room  precipitately. 

Once  clear  of  the  verandah  he  walked  more  slowly, 
and  his  eyes  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  bunkhouse. 
All  the  old  hatred  was  stirred  within  him  as  he  saw 
Tresler  turn  the  angle  of  the  building  and  disappeai 
within  its  doorway. 

"  Guess  no  one's  goin'  to  see  you — after  Willow 
Blufl,"  he  mutter-d     "  No  one." 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT  WILLOW  BLUFF 

Tresler  would  have  liked  to  see  Diane  before  go- 
ing out  to  Willow  Bluff,  but  reflection  showed  him  how 
impossible  that  would  be  ;  at  least,  how  much  unneces- 
sary risk  it  would  involve  for  her.  After  what  he  had 
just  witnessed  of  her  father,  it  behooved  him  to  do  noth- 
ing rashly  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  so  he  turned  his 
whole  attention  to  his  preparations  for  departure. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  his  comrade  without 
a  second  thought.  Arizona  was  his  man,  and  he  sent 
the  diplomatic  Joe  out  to  bring  him  in  from  Pine 
Creek  sloughs,  where  he  was  cutting  late  hay  for  win- 
ter stores. 

In  about  half  an  hour  the  American  came  in,  all  cu- 
riosity and  eagerness ;  nor  would  he  be  satisfied  until 
he  had  been  told  the  whole  details  of  the  matter  that 
had  led  up  to  the  appointment.  Tresler  kept  back 
nothing  but  his  private  affairs  relating  to  Diane.  At 
the  conclusion  of  the  recital,  Arizona's  rising  temper 
culminated  in  an  explosion. 

"  Say,  that  feller  Jake's  a  meaner  pirate  an'  cus  as 
'ud  thieve  the  supper  from  a  blind  dawg  an'  then  lick 
hell  out  o'  him  'cos  he  can't  see."  Which  outburst  of 
feeling  having  satisfied  the  necessity  of  the  moment, 


264  ^^^i^  NIGHT-RIDERS 

he  became  practical.  '*  An'  you're  goin',  you  an'  me  ?" 
he  asked  incredulously. 

"  That's  the  idea,  Arizona ;  but  of  course  you're  quite 
free  to  please  yourself.  I  chose  you  ;  Marbolt  gave  me 
the  privilege  of  selection." 

**  Wal,  guess  we'd  best  git  goin*.  Willow  Bluff  sta- 
tion's fair  to  decent,  so  we'll  only  need  our  blankets  an' 
grub — an'  a  tidy  bunch  of  ammunition.  Guess  I'll  go 
an'  see  Teddy  fer  the  rations." 

He  went  off  in  a  hurry.  Tresler  looked  after  him. 
It  was  good  to  be  dealing  with  such  a  man  after  those 
others,  Jake  and  the  rancher.  Arizona's  manner  of  ac- 
cepting his  selection  pleased  him.  There  was  no  "yes" 
or  "no"  about  it:  no  argument.  A  silent  acceptance 
and  ready  thought  for  their  needs.  A  thorough  old 
campaigner.  A  man  to  be  relied  on  in  emergency — a 
man  to  be  appreciated. 

In  two  hours  ever}4hing  was  in  readiness,  Tresler 
contenting  himself  with  a  reassuring  message  to  Diane 
through  the  medium  of  Joe. 

They  rode  off,  Jezebel  was  on  her  good  behavior, 
and  Arizona's  mount  kept  up  with  her  fast  walk  by 
means  of  his  cowhorse  amble.  As  they  came  to  the 
ford,  Tresler  drew  up  and  dismounted,  and  the  other 
watched  him  while  he  produced  a  wicker-covered  glass 
flask  from  his  pocket. 

"  What's  that  ? "  he  asked.     '*  Rye  ?  " 

Tresler  shook  his  head,  and  tried  the  metal  screw 
cap. 

"No,"  he  replied  shortly. 

Then  he  leant  over  the  water  and  carefully  set  the  bot' 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  265 

tie  floating,  pushing  it  out  as  far  as  possible  with  his 
foot  while  he  supported  himself  by  the  overhanging 
bough  of  a  tree.  Then  he  stood  watching  it  carried 
slowly  amid-stream.  Presendy  the  improvised  craft 
darted  out  with  a  rush  into  the  current,  and  swept  on- 
ward with  the  main  flow  of  the  water.  Then  he  re- 
turned and  remounted  his  impatient  mare. 

*'  That,"  he  said,  as  they  rode  on,  ''  is  a  message 
Fyles's  men  are  down  the  river  spying  out  the  land,  and, 
incidentally,  waiting  to  hear  from  me.  The  message 
I've  sent  them  is  a  request  for  assistance  at  Willow 
Bluff.  I  have  given  them  sound  reason,  which  Fyles 
will  understand." 

Arizona  displayed  considerable  astonishment,  which 
found  expression  in  a  deprecating  avowal. 

"Say,  I  guess  I'm  too  much  o'  the  old  hand.  I 
didn't  jest  think  o'  that" 

It  was  all  he  vouchsafed,  but  it  said  a  great  deal. 
And  the  thin  face  and  wild  eyes  said  more. 

Now  they  rode  on  in  silence,  while  they  followed  the 
wood-lined  trail  along  the  river.  The  shade  was  de- 
lightful, and  the  trail  sufficiently  sandy  to  muffle  the 
sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs  and  so  leave  the  silence  un- 
broken. There  was  a  faint  hum  from  the  insects  that 
haunted  the  river,  but  it  was  drowsy,  soft,  and  only 
emphasized  the  perfect  sylvan  solitude.  After  a  while 
the  trail  left  the  river  and  gently  inclined  up  to  the 
prairie  level.  Then  the  bush  broke  and  became  scat- 
tered into  small  bluffs,  and  a  snif^  of  the  bracing  air  of 
the  plains  brushed  away  the  last  odor  of  the  redolent 
glades  they  were  leaving. 


266  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

It  was  here  that  Arizona  roused  himself.  He  was  oi 
the  prairie,  belonging  to  the  prairie.  The  woodlands 
depressed  him,  but  the  prairie  made  him  expansive. 

"  Seems  to  me,  Tresler,  you're  kind  o'  takin'  a  heap 
o'  chances — mostly  onnes'ary.  Meanin'  ther'  ain't  no 
more  reason  to  it  than  whistlin'  Methody  hymns  to  a 
deaf  mule.  Can't  see  w^hy  you're  mussin'  y'self  up  wi' 
these  all-fired  hoss  thieves.  You're  askin'  fer  a  sight 
more'n  you  ken  eat." 

'*  And,  like  all  men  of  such  condition,  I  shall  proba- 
bly eat  to  repletion,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

Arizona  turned  a  doubtful  eye  on  the  speaker,  and 
quietly  spat  over  his  horse's  shoulder. 

"  Guess  your  langwidge  ain't  mine,'^  he  said  thought- 
fully ;  •*  but  if  you're  meanin'  you're  goin'  to  git  your 
belly  full,  I  calc'late  you're  li'ble  to  git  like  a  crop- 
bound  rooster  wi'  the  moult  'fore  you're  through.  An' 
I  sez,  why?" 

Tresler  shrugged.  *'  Why  does  a  man  do  anything?" 
he  asked  indifferently. 

*'  Gener'ly  fer  one  of  two  reasons.  Guess  it's  drink 
or  wimmin."  Again  he  shot  a  speculating  glance  at 
his  friend,  and,  as  Tresler  displayed  more  interest  in 
the  distant  view  than  in  his  remarks,  he  went  on.  '*  I 
ain't  heerd  tell  as  you  wus  death  on  the  bottle." 

The  object  of  his  solicitude  smiled  round  on  him. 

''  Perhaps  you  think  me  a  fool.  But  I  just  can't 
stand  by  seeing  things  going  wrong  in  a  way  that 
threatens  to  swamp  one  poor,  lonely  girl,  whose  only 
protection  is  her  blind  father," 

'*  Then  it  is  wimmin  ?  " 


AT  WILI.OW  BLUFF  267 

"  If  you  like." 

''  But  I  don't  jest  see  wher'  them  hoss  thieves  figger." 

**  Perhaps  you  don't,  but  beheve  me  they  do — indi- 
rectly."  Tresler  paused.  Then  he  went  on  briskly. 
"  There's  no  need  to  go  into  details  about  it,  but — but 
I  want  to  run  into  this  gang.  Do  you  know  why  ? 
Because  I  want  to  find  out  who  this  Red  Mask  is.  It 
is  on  his  personality  depends  the  possibility  of  my  help- 
ing the  one  soul  on  this  ranch  who  deserves  nothing 
but  tender  kindness  at  the  hands  of  those  about  her." 

**  A-men,"  Arizona  added  in  the  manner  he  had  ac- 
quired in  his  "  religion  "  days. 

**  I  must  set  her  free  of  Jake — somehow." 

Arizona's  eyes  flashed  round  on  him  quickly.  "Jest 
so,"  he  observed  complainingly.  "That's  how  I 
wanted  to  do  last  night." 

"  And  you'd  have  upset  everything." 

*'  Wrong — plumb  wrong." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Tresler  smiled  confidently.  "We  are 
all  liable  to  mistakes." 

Arizona's  dissatisfied  grunt  was  unmistakable. 
"Thet's  jest  how  that  sassafras-colored,  bull-beef  Joe 
Nelson  got  argyfyin'  when  Jake  come  around  an'  lo- 
cated him  sleepin'  ofT  the  night  before  in  the  hog-pen. 
But  it  don't  go  no  more'n  his  did,  I  guess.  Howsum, 
it^s  wimmin.  Say,  Tresler,"  the  lean  figure  leant  over 
toward  him,  and  the  wild  eyes  looked  earnestly  into 
his — "it's  right,  then — dead  right?" 

"When  Tv^e  settled  with  her  father — and  Jake." 

Arizona  held  out  his  horny,  claw-like  hand.  "  Shake/* 
he  said.     "  I'm  glad,  real  glad." 


26S  THE  NIGH'URIDERS 

They  gripped  for  a  moment,  then  the  cowpunchef 
turned  away,  and  sat  staring  out  over  the  prairie. 
Tresler,  watching  him,  wondered  at  that  long  abstrac- 
tion-.    The  man's  face  had  a  softened  look. 

**  We  ail  fall  victims  to  it  sooner  or  later,  Arizona,'* 
he  ventured  presently.  "  It  comes  once  in  a  man's 
lifetime,  and  it  comes  for  good  or  ill.'* 

**  Twice — me," 

The  hard  fact  nipped  Tresler' s  sentimental  mood  in 
the  bud. 

-Ah!" 

The  other  continued  his  study  of  the  sky-line, 
*' Yup,"  he  said  at  last.  *' One  died,  an'  t'other  didn't 
hatch  out." 

"  I  see." 

It  was  no  use  attempting  sympathy.  When  Arizona 
spoke  of  himself,  when  he  chose  to  confide  his  life's 
troubles  to  any  one,  he  had  a  way  of  stating  simple 
facts  merely  as  facts  ;  he  spoke  of  them  because  it 
suited  his  pessimistic  mood. 

"Yup.  The  first  was  kind  o'  fady,  anyways — sort 
o'  limp  in  the  backbone.  Guess  I'd  got  fixed  wi'  hei 
'fore  I  knew  a  heap.  Must  'a'  bin.  Yup,  she  wus  fancy 
in  her  notions.  Hated  sharin'  a  pannikin  o'  tea  wd'  a 
friend  ;  guess  I  see  her  scrape  out  a  fry-pan  oncet.  i 
'lows  she  had  cranks.  Guess  she  hadn't  a  pile  o'  brain, 
neither.  She  never  could  locate  a  hog  from  a  sow,  an' 
as  fer  stridin'  a  hoss,  hell  itself  couldn't  'a'  per-suaded 
her.  She'd  a  notion  fer  settin'  sideways,  an'  alius  got 
muleish  when  you  guessed  she  wus  wrong.  Yup,  she 
wus  red-hot  on  the  mission  sociables  an'  eatin'  offn 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  269 

rhiny,  an*  wasn't  satislied  wi'  noospaper  on  the  table  ; 
an'  took  the  notion  she'd  got  pimples,  an'  worried  hell 
out  o'  her  old  man  till  he  bo't  a  razor  an'  turned  his 
features  into  a  patch  o'  fall  ploughin',  an'  kind  o'  bull- 
dozed her  mother  into  lashin'  her  stummick  wi'  some 
noofangled  fixin'  as  wouldn't  meet  round  her  nowheres 
noways.  An'  she  wus  kind  o'  finnicky  wi'  her  own 
feedin',  too.  Guess  some  wall-eyed  cuss  had  took  her 
into  Sacramento  an'  give  her  a  feed  at  one  of  them 
Dago  joints,  wher'  they  disguise  most  everythin'  wi' 
langwidge,  an'  ile,  an'  garlic,  till  3^ou  hate  yourself. 
Wal,  she  died.  Mebbe  she's  got  all  them  things  handy 
now.  But  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'  mean  about  her ;  she 
jest  had  her  notions.  Guess  it  come  from  her  mother. 
I  'lows  she  wus  kind  o'  struck  on  fool  things  an'  fixin's. 
Can't  blame  her  noways.  Guess  I  wus  mostly  sudden 
them  days,  Luv  ut  fust  sight  is  a  real  good  thing 
when  it  comes  to  savin'  labor,  but  like  all  labor-savin' 
fixin's,  it's  liable  to  git  ratded  some,  an'  then  ther'  ain't 
no  calc'latin'  what's  goin'  to  bust" 

Arizona's  manner  was  very  hopeless,  but  presentl} 
he  cheered  up  visibly  and  renewed  his  wad  of  chewing. 

"  T'other  wus  kind  o'  slower  in  comin'  along/'  he 
went  on,  in  his  reflective  draw^l.  "  But  when  it  got 
around  it  wus  good  an'  strong,  sure.  Y'  see,  ther'  wus  a 
deal  'tween  us  like  to  make  us  friendly.  She  made  hash 
fer  the  round-up,  which  I  'lows,  when  the  lady's  young, 
she's  most  gener'ly  an  objec'  of  'fection  fer  the  boys. 
Guess  she  wus  most  every  kind  of  a  gal,  wi'  her  ha'r  the 
color  of  a  field  of  wheat  ready  fer  the  binder,  an'  her 
ligger  as  del'cate  as  one  o'  them  crazy  egg-bilers,  an' 


270  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

her  pretty  face  all  sparklin'  wi'  smiles  an'  hoss-soap, 
an'  her  eye  !  Gee !  but  she  had  an  eye.  Guess  she 
would  'a'  made  a  prairie-rose  hate  itself.  But  that  wus 
'fore  we  hooked  up  in  a  team.  I  'lows  marryin's  a 
mighty  bad  finish  to  courtin'." 

"You  were  married?" 

*'Am." 

A  silence  fell.  The  horses  ambled  on  in  the  fresh 
noonday  air.  Arizona's  look  was  forbidding.  Sud- 
denly he  turned  and  gazed  fiercely  into  his  friend's  face. 

**Yes,  siree.  An'  it's  my  'pinion,  in  spite  of  wot 
some  folks  sez,  gettin'  married's  most  like  makin' 
butter.  Courtin's  the  cream,  good  an'  thick  an'  juicy, 
an'  you  ken  lay  it  on  thick,  an'  you  kind  o'  wonder 
how  them  buzzocky  old  cows  got  the  savee  to  perduce 
sech  a  daisy  liquid.  But  after  the  turnin'-point,  which 
is  marryin',  it's  difif'rent  some.  'Tain't  cream  no  longer. 
It's  butter,  an'  you  need  to  use  it  sort  o'  mean.  That's 
how  I  found,  I  guess." 

'*  I  suppose  you  settled  down,  and  things  went  all 
right,  though?"  suggested  Tresler. 

''Wal,  maybe  that's  so.  Guess  if  anythin'  wus 
wrong  it  wus  me,  Yer  see,  ther'  ain't  a  heap  o'  fellers 
rightly  understands  females.  I'm  most  gener'ly  patient. 
Knowin'  their  weakness,  I  sez,  *  Arizona^  you're  mud 
when  wimmin  gits  around.  You  bein'  married,  it's 
your  dooty  to  boost  the  gal  along.'  So  I  jest  let  her 
set  around  an*  shovel  orders  as  though  I  wus  the  hired 
man.  Say,  guess  you  never  had  a  gal  shovelin*  orders. 
It's  real  sweet  to  hear  'em,  an'  I  figger  they  knows 
their  bizness   mostly.     It   makes   you  feel  as  though 


X  AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  271 

you'd  ha'f  a  dozen  hands  an'  they  wus  all  gropin'  to 
git  to  work.  That's  how  I  felt,  anyways.  Every 
mornin'  she'd  per-suade  me  gentle  out  o'  bed  'fore  day- 
light, an'  I'd  feel  like  a  hog  fer  sleepin'  late.  Then 
she'd  shovel  the  orders  hansum,  in  a  voice  that  'ud 
shame  molasses.  It  wus  alius  'dear'  or  'darlin'.' 
Fust  haul  water,  then  buck  wood,  light  the  stove,  feed 
the  hogs  an'  chick'ns,  dung  out  the  ol'  cow,  fill  the  lamp, 
rub  down  the  mare,  pick  up  the  kitchen,  set  the  clothes 
bilin',  cook  the  vittles,  an'  do  a  bit  o'  washin'  while  she 
turned  over  fer  five  minitSo  Then  she'd  git  around, 
mostly  'bout  noon,  wi'  her  shower  o'  ha'r  trailin'  like  a 
rain  o'  gold-dust,  an'  a  natty  sort  o'  silk  fixin'  which 
she  called  a  *  dressin'-gown,'  an'  she'd  sot  right  down 
an'  eat  the  vittles,  tellin'  me  o'  things  she  w^anted  done 
as  she'd  fergot.  Ther'  wus  the  hen-roost  wanted 
limin',  she  was  sure  the  chick'ns  had  the  bugs,  an'  the 
ol'  mare's  harness  wanted  fixin',  so  she  could  drive  into 
town  ;  an'  thebuckboard  wanted  washin',  an'  the  wheels 
greasin'.  An'  the  seat  wus  kind  o'  hard  an'  wanted 
packin'  wi'  a  pillar.  Then  ther'  wus  the  p'tater  patch 
wanted  hoein',  an'  the  cabb'ges.  An'  the  hay-mower 
wus  to  be  got  ready  fer  hay  in'.  She  mostly  drove  that 
herself,  an'  I  'lows  I  wus  glad." 

Arizona  paused  and  took  a  fresh  chew.  Then  he 
went  on. 

"  Guess  you  ain't  never  got  hitched  ?  " 

Tresler  denied  the  impeachment.    "  Not  yet,"  he  said. 

*'  Hah  1     Guess  it  makes  a  heap  o'  difl'rence." 

**  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Sobers  a  fellow.  Makes  him 
feel  like  settling  down." 


272  THE  xNlGHl-RlDERS 

''  Wal,  maybe/' 

*'  And  Where's  your  wife  living  now  ? "  Tresler  asked 
alter  another  pause. 

'*  Can't  rightly  say."  There  was  a  nasty  sharpness 
in  the  manner  Arizona  jerked  his  answer  out.  '*Y' 
see,  it's  this  a-ways.  I  guess  I  didn't  amount  to  a  deal 
as  a  married  man.  Leastways,  that's  how  she  got 
figgerin'  after  a  whiles.  Guess  I'd  sp'iled  her  life  some. 
I  'lows  I  wus  alius  a  mean  cuss.  An'  she  wus  real 
happy  bakin'  hash.  Guess  1  druv  her  to  drinkin'  at 
the  s'loon,  too,  which  made  me  hate  myself  wuss.  Wal, 
1  jest  did  wot  I  could  to  smooth  things  an'  kep  goin'. 
I  got  punchin'  cows  agin,  an'  give  her  every  cent  o' 
my  wages ;  but  it  wa'n't  to  be."  The  man's  voice 
was  husky,  and  he  paused  to  recover  himself.  And 
tiien  hurried  on  as  though  to  get  the  story  over  as  soon 
as  possible.  '*  Guess  I  wus  out  on  the  *  round-up ' 
some  weeks,  an'  then  I  come  back  to  find  her  gone — 
plumb  gone.  Mebbe  she'd  got  lonesome  ;  I  can't  say. 
Yup,  the  shack  wus  empty,  an'  the  buckboard  gone,  an' 
the  blankets,  an'  most  o'  the  cookin'  fixin's.  It  wus  the 
neighbors  put  me  wise.  Neighbors  mostly  puts  you 
wise.  They  acted  friendly.  Ther'd  bin  a  feller  come 
'long  from  Alberta,  a  pretty  tough  Breed  feller.  He 
went  by  the  name  o'  *  Tough '  McCulloch." 

Tresler  started.  But  Arizona  was  still  staring  out  at 
the  distant  prairie,  and  the  movement  escaped  him. 

'*  Guess  he'd  bin  around  the  shack  a  heap,"  he  went 
on,  •*  an'  the  day  'fore  I  got  back  the  two  of  'em  had 
drove  out  wi'  the  buckboard  loaded,  takin'  the  trail  fer 
the  hills.     I  put  after  'em,  but  never  found  a  trace,     I 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  273 

'lows  the  feller  had  guts.  He  left  a  message  on  the 
table.  It  wus  one  o'  his  guns — loaded.  Likely  yoa 
won't  understan',  but  I  kep'  that  message.  I  ain't  see 
her  sence.  I  did  hear  tell  she  wus  bakin'  hash  agin. 
I  'lows  she  could  bake  hash.  Say,  Tresler,  I've  lost 
hogs,  an'  I've  lost  cows,  but  I'm  guessin'  ther'  ain't 
nothin'  in  the  world  meaner  than  losin'  yer  wife." 

Tresler  made  no  reply.  What  could  he  say? 
"  Tough  "  McCulloch  !  the  name  rang  in  his  ears.  It 
was  the  name  Anton  had  been  known  by  in  Canada. 
He  tried  to  think  what  he  ought  to  do.  Should  he 
tell  Arizona?  No.  He  dared  not.  Murder  would 
promptly  be  done,  if  he  knew  anything  of  the  American. 
No  doubt  the  Breed  deserved  anything,  but  there  was 
enough  savagery  at  Mosquito  Bend  without  adding  to 
it.     Suddenly  another  thought  occurred  to  him. 

"  Did  you  know  the  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

**  Never  set  eyes  on  him.  But  I  guess  I  shall  some 
day.''  And  Tresler' s  decision  was  irrevocably  con- 
firmed. 

''  And  the  '  gun '  message  ?  " 

**  Wal,  it's  a  way  they  have  in  Texas,"  replied 
Arizona.  *'  A  loaded  gun  is  a  mean  sort  o'  challenge. 
It's  a  challenge  which  ain't  fer  the  present  zacly.  Guess 
it  holds  good  fer  life.     Et  means  *  on  sight'  " 

*'  I  understand." 

And  the  rest  of  the  journey  to  Willow  Bluff  was  made 
almost  in  silence. 

The  wonderful  extent  of  the  blind  man's  domain  now 
became  apparent.  They  had  traveled  twenty  miles 
almost  as  the  crow  flies,  and  yet  they  had  not  reached 


274  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

its  confines.  As  Arizona  said,  in  response  to  a  remark 
from  his  companion,  *'The  sky-line  ain't  no  limit  fer 
the  blind  hulk's  land." 

Willow  Bluff  was,  as  its  name  described,  just  a  big 
bluff  of  woodland  standing  at  the  confluence  of  two 
rivers.  To  the  south  and  west  it  was  open  prairie. 
The  place  consisted  of  a  small  shack,  and  a  group  of 
large  pine-log  corrals  capable  of  housing  a  thousand 
head  of  stock.  And  as  the  men  came  up  they  saw, 
scattered  over  the  adjacent  prairie,  the  peacefully  graz- 
ing beeves  which  were  to  be  their  charge. 

"  A  pretty  bunch,'*  observed  Arizona. 

"  Yes,  and  a  pretty  place  for  a  raid." 

At  that  moment  the  doings  of  the  raiders  were  upper- 
most in  Tresler's  mind. 

Then  they  proceeded  to  take  possession.  They 
found  Jim  Henderson,  a  mean  looking  Breed  boy,  in 
the  shack,  and  promptly  set  him  to  work  to  clean  it  out. 
It  was  not  a  bad  place,  but  the  boys  had  let  it  get  into 
a  filthy  condition,  in  the  customary  manner  of  all  half- 
breeds.  However,  this  they  quickly  remedied,  and 
Tresler  saw  quite  a  decent  prospect  of  comfort  for  their 
stay  there. 

Arizona  said  very  little  while  there  was  work  to  be 
done.  And  his  companion  was  astonished,  even  though 
he  knew  him  so  well,  at  his  capacity  and  forethought. 
Evening  was  the  most  important  time,  and  here  the 
cattleman  stood  out  a  master  of  his  craft.  The  beeves 
had  to  be  corralled  every  night.  There  must  be  no 
chance  of  straying,  since  they  were  sold,  and  liable  for 
transport  at  any  moment.     This  work,  and  the  task  of 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  275 

counting,  demanded  all  the  cattleman's  skill.  Bands 
of  fifty  were  rounded  up,  cut  out  from  the  rest,  and 
quietly  brought  in.  When  each  corral  was  filled,  and 
the  whole  herd  accommodated  for  the  night,  a  supply 
of  fresh  young  hay  was  thrown  to  them  to  keep  them 
occupied  during  their  few  remaining  hours  of  waking. 
Arizona  was  a  giant  at  the  work  ;  and  to  see  his  lithe, 
lean  body  swaying  this  way  and  that,  as  he  swung  his 
well-trained  pony  around  the  ambling  herd,  his  arms 
and  "rope"  and  voice  at  work,  was  to  understand 
something  of  the  wild  life  that  claimed  him,  and  the 
wild,  untrained  nature  which  was  his. 

The  last  corral  was  fastened  up,  and  then,  but  not 
until  then,  the  two  friends  took  leisure. 

*'  Wal,"  said  Arizona,  as  they  stood  leaning  against 
the  bars  of  the  biggest  corral,  "  guess  ther's  goin*  to  be 
a  night-guard  ?  " 

*'  Yes.  These  boys  are  smart  enough  lads,  it  seems. 
We'll  let  them  take  two  hours  about  up  to  midnight 
You  and  I  will  do  the  rest." 

*'  An'  the  hull  lot  of  us'll  sleep  round  the  corrals  ?" 

"  That's  it." 

*'  An'  the  bosses  ?  " 

"  We'll  keep  them  saddled." 

"  An'  the  sheriff's  fellers  ?  " 

"  That  I  can't  say.  We're  not  likely  to  see  them, 
anyway." 

And  so  the  plans  were  arranged,  simple,  even  hope- 
less in  construction.  Two  men,  for  they  could  not 
depend  on  the  half-breeds,  to  face  possibly  any  odds 
should  the  raider  choose  this  spot  for  attack.     But  how- 


276  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

ever  inadequate  the  guard,  there  was  something  morally 
strong  in  the  calm,  natural  manner  of  its  arranging. 
These  two  knew  that  in  case  of  trouble  they  had  onh^ 
themselves  to  depend  on.  Yet  neither  hesitated,  or 
balked  at  the  undertaking.  Possibilities  never  entered 
into  their  calculations. 

The  first  and  second  night  produced  no  alarm.  Nor 
did  they  receive  any  news  of  a  disturbing  nature.  On 
the  third  day  Jacob  Smith  rode  into  their  camp.  He 
was  a  patrol  guard,  on  a  visiting  tour  of  the  outlying 
stations.     His  news  was  peaceful  enough. 

**  I  don't  care  a  cuss  how  long  the  old  m.an  keeps  the 
funks,"  he  said,  with  a  cheery  laugh.  *'  I  give  it  you 
right  here,  this  job's  a  snap.  I  ride  around  like  a 
gen'l  spyin'  fer  enemies.  Guess  Red  Mask  has  his 
uses." 

"So's  most  folk,"  responded  Arizona,  "but  'tain't 
alius  easy  to  locate." 

"  Wal,  I  guess  I  ken  locate  his  jest  about  now.  I'm 
sort  o'  lyin'  fallow,  which  ain't  usual  on  Skitter  Bend." 

*' Guess  not.     He's  servin'  us  diff'rent." 

"Ah  !  Doin'  night-guard  ?  Say,  I'd  see  blind  hulk 
roastin'  'fore  I'd  hang  on  to  them  beasties.  But  it's 
like  you,  Arizona.  You  hate  him  wuss'n  hell,  an'  Jake 
too,  yet  you'd — pshaw  !  So  long.  Guess  I'd  best  get 
on.     I've  got  nigh  forty  miles  to  do  'fore  I  git  back." 

And  he  rode  away,  careless,  thoughtless,  in  the  midst 
of  a  very  real  danger.  And  it  was  the  life  they  all  led. 
They  asked  for  a  wage,  a  bunk,  and  grub  ;  nothing  else 
mattered. 

Tresler  had  developed  a  feeling  that  the  whole  thing 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  27; 

was  a  matter  of  form  rather  than  dead  earnest,  that  he 
had  been  precipitate  in  sending  his  message  to  the 
sheriff.  He  wanted  to  get  back  to  the  ranch.  He 
understood  only  too  well  how  he  had  furthered  Jake's 
projects,  and  cursed  himself  bitterly  for  having  been  so 
easily  duped.  He  was  comfortably  out  of  the  way, 
and  the  foreman  would  take  particularly  good  care  that 
he  should  remain  so  as  long  as  possible.  Arizona,  too, 
had  become  anything  but  enlivening.  He  went  about 
morosely  and  snapped  villainously  at  the  boys.  There 
was  no  word  in  answer  to  the  message  to  the  sheriff. 
They  daily  searched  the  bluff  for  some  sign,  but  with- 
out result,  andTresler  was  rather  glad  than  disappointed, 
while  Arizona  seemed  utterly  without  opinion  on  the 
matter. 

The  third  night  produced  a  slight  shock  for  Tresler. 
It  was  midnight,  and  one  of  the  boys  roused  him  for 
his  watch.  He  sat  up,  and,  to  his  astonishment,  found 
Arizona  sitting  on  a  log  beside  him.  He  waited  until 
the  boy  had  gone  to  turn  in,  then  he  looked  at  his  friend 
inquiringly. 

-What's  up?' 

And  Arizona's  reply  fairly  staggered  him.  **  Say, 
Tresler,"  he  said,  in  a  tired  voice,  utterly  unlike  his 
usual  forceful  manner,  **  I  jest  wanted  to  ast  you  to 
change  *  watches'  wi'  me.  I've  kind  o'  lost  my  grip  on 
sleep.  Mebbe  I'm  weak'nin'  some,  I  'lows  Tm  li'ble 
to  git  sleepy  later  on,  an'  I  tho't,  m-ebbe,  ef  I  wus  to  do 
the  fust  watch — wal,  y'  see,  I  guess  that  plug  in  my 
chest  ain't  done  me  a  heap  o'  good." 

Tresler  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.     It  had  sud- 


278  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

denly  dawned  on  him  that  this  queer  son  of  the  prairie 

was  ill. 

"  Rot,  man  i  '^  he  exclaimed.  His  tone  in  no  way  hid 
his  alarm.  They  were  at  the  gate  of  the  big  corral, 
hidden  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the  high  wall  of  lateral 
logs.  "You  go  and  turn  in.  I'm  going  to  watch  till 
daylight." 

"  Say,  that's  real  friendly,'*  observed  the  other,  im- 
perturbably.  ''  But  it  ain't  no  use.  Guess  I  couldn't 
sleep  yet." 

**  Well,  please  yourself.  I'm  going  to  watch  till  day- 
light." Tresler's  manner  was  quietly  decided,  and 
Arizona  seemed  to  accept  it. 

**  Wal,  ef  it  hits  you  that  a-ways  I'll  jest  set  around 
till  I  git  sleepy." 

Tresler's  alarm  was  very  real,  but  he  shrugged  with 
a  great  assumption  of  indifference  and  moved  off  to 
make  a  round  of  the  corrals,  carefully  hugging  the 
shadow  of  the  walls  as  he  went.  After  a  while  he  re- 
turned to  his  post.  Arizona  was  still  sitting  where  he 
had  left  him. 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  the 
American  quietly  drew  his  revolver  and  spun  the 
chambers  round.  Tresler  watched  him,  and  the  other, 
looking  up,  caught  his  eye. 

"  Guess  these  things  is  kind  o'  tricksy,"  he  observed, 
in  explanation,  "  I  got  it  jammed  oncet.  It's  a  decent 
weapon  but  noo,  an'  I  ain't  fer  noo  fixin's.  This 
hyar,"  he  went  on,  drawing  a  second  one  from  its 
holster,  "is  a  *  six  '  an'  'ud  drop  an  ox  at  fifty.  Ha'r 
trigger    too.     It's  a  dandyo     Guess  it   wus   '  Tough ' 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  279 

McCulloch^s.  Guess  you  ain't  got  yours  on  your 
hip?" 

Tresler  shook  his  head.  *'  No,  I  use  the  belt  for  my 
breeches,  and  keep  the  guns  loose  in  my  pockets  when 
I'm  not  riding." 

**  Wrong.  Say,  fix  'em  right.  You  take  a  sight  too 
many  chances." 

Tresler  laughingly  complied  **  I'm  not  likely  to 
need  them,  but  still " 

"  Nope."  Arizona  returned  his  guns  to  their  resting- 
place.  Then  he  looked  up.  *'  Say,  guess  I  kind  o' 
fixed  the  hosses  difT'rent.  Our  hosses.  Bro't  'em  up 
an'  stood  'em  in  the  angle  wher'  this  corral  joins  the 
next  one.  Seems  better;  more  handy-like.  It's 
sheltered,  an'  therms  a  bit  of  a  sharp  breeze.  One  o' 
them  early  frosts."  He  looked  up  at  the  sky. 
"  Guess  ther'  didn't  ought.  Ther'  ain't  no  moon  till 
nigh  on  daylight.  Howsum,  ther'  ain't  no  argyin'  the 
weather." 

Tresler  was  watching  his  comrade  closely.  There 
was  something  peculiar  in  his  manner.  He  seemed  al- 
most fanciful,  yet  there  was  a  wonderful  alertness  in  the 
rapidity  of  his  talk.  He  remained  silent,  and,  presently, 
the  other  went  on  again,  but  he  had  switched  off  to  a 
fresh  topic. 

''  Say,  I  never  ast  you  how  you  figgered  to  settle  wi* 
Jake,"  he  said.  **  I  guess  it'll  be  all  " — he  broke  off, 
and  glanced  out  prairieward,  but  went  on  almost  im« 
mediately, — ''a  settlin'.  I've  seen  you  kind  o'  riled. 
And  I've  seen  Jake."  He  stood  up  and  peered  into  the 
darkness   while    he    talked    in    his    even    monotone. 


28o  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

'*  Yup/*  he  went  on,  "  ther's  ways  o'  dealin'  v/i'  men-^ 
an'  ways.  Guess,  now,  ef  you  wus  dealin*  wi'  an 
honest  citizen  you'd  jest  talk  him  tain  Mind,  I  figger 
to  know  you  a  heap."  His  eyes  suddenly  turned  on 
the  man  he  was  addressing,  but  returned  almost  at 
once  to  their  earnest  contemplation  of  the  black  vista  of 
grass-land.  *'  You'd  argy  the  point  reas'nable,  an^ 
leave  the  gal  to  settle  for  you.  But  wi'  Jake  it's  diff- 
'rent."  His  hand  slowly  went  round  to  his  right  hip, 
and  suddenly  he  turned  on  his  friend  v^dth  a  look  of 
desperate  meaning.  "  D'you  know  what  it'll  be'tw^een 
you  two  ?  This  is  what  it  means  ;  "  and  he  whipped 
out  the  heavy  six  that  had  once  been  *'  Tough " 
McCulloch's,  and  leveled  it  at  arm's  length  out  prairie- 
w^ard.  Tresler  thought  it  was  coming  at  him,  and 
sprang  back,  while  Arizona  laughed.  "This  is  what 
it'll  be.  You'll  take  a  careful  aim,  an'  if  you've  friends 
around  they'll  see  fair  play,  sure.  I  guess  they'll  count 
*  three  '  for  you,  so.  Jest  one,  two,  an'  you'll  both  fire 
on  the  last,  so.     Three  !  " 

There  was  a  flash,  and  a  sharp  report,  and  then  a 
cry  split  the  still  night  air.  Tresler  sprang  at  the  man 
whom  he  now  believed  was  mad,  but  the  cry  stayed 
him,  and  the  next  moment  he  felt  the  grip  of  Arizona's 
sinewy  hand  on  his  arm,  and  was  being  dragged  round 
the  corral  as  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  came  thunder- 
ing toward  him, 

"  It's  them !  " 

It  was  the  only  explanation  Arizona  vouchsafed. 
They  reached  the  horses  and  both  sprang  into  the  sad- 
dle, and  the  American's  voice  whispered  hoarsely  — 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  j3l 

"  Bend  low.  Guess  these  walls  '11  save  us,  an'  we've 
got  a  sheer  sight  o'  all  the  corral  gates.  Savee  ? 
Shoot  careful,  an'  aim  true.  An'  watch  out  on  the  bluff. 
The  sheriff's  around." 

And  now  the  inexperienced  Tresler  saw  the  whole 
scheme.  The  masterly  generalship  of  his  comrade 
filled  him  with  admiration.  And  he  had  thought  him 
ill,  his  brain  turned  !  For  some  reason  he  believed 
the  raiders  were  approaching,  but  not  being  absolutely 
sure,  he  had  found  an  excuse  for  not  turning  in  as 
usual,  and  cloaked  all  his  suspicions  for  fear  of  giving 
a  false  alarm.  And  their  present  position  was  one  of 
carefully  considered  strategy  ;  the  only  possible  one 
from  which  they  could  hope  to  achieve  any  advantage, 
for,  sheltered,  they  yet  had  every  gate  of  the  corrals 
within  gunshot. 

But  there  was  little  time  for  reflection  or  speculation. 
If  the  sheriff's  men  came,  well  and  good.  In  the  mean- 
time a  crowd  of  a  dozen  men  had  charged  down  upon 
the  corrals,  a  silent,  ghostly  band  ;  the  only  noise  they 
made  was  the  clatter  of  their  horses'  hoofs. 

Both  men,  watching,  were  lying  over  their  horses' 
necks.  Arizona  was  the  first  to  shoot.  Again  his  gun 
belched  a  death-dealing  shot.  Tresler  saw  one  figure 
reel  and  fall  with  a  groan.  Then  his  own  gun  wa?" 
heard.  His  aim  was  less  effective,  and  only  brought  a 
volley  in  reply  from  the  raiders.  That  volley  was  the 
signal  for  the  real  battle  to  begin.  The  ambush  of  the 
two  defenders  was  located,  and  the  rustlers  divided, 
and  came  sweeping  round  to  the  attack. 

But  Arizona  was  ready.     Both  horses  wheeled  round 


282  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

and  raced  out  of  their  improvised  fort,  and  Tresler, 
following  the  keen-witted  man,  appreciated  his  re- 
source as  he  darted  into  another  angle  between  two 
other  corrals.  The  darkness  favored  them,  and  the 
rustlers  swept  by.  Arizona  only  waited  long  enough 
for  them  to  get  well  clear,  then  his  gun  rang  out  again, 
and  Tresler's  too.  But  the  game  was  played  out.  A 
straggler  sighted  them  and  gave  the  alarm,  and  in- 
stantly the  rest  took  up  the  chase. 

"  Round  the  corrals  !  " 

As  he  spoke  Arizona  turned  in  his  saddle  and  fired 
into  the  mob.  A  perfect  hail  of  shots  replied,  and  the 
bullets  came  singing  all  round  them.  He  was  as  cool 
and  deliberate  as  though  he  were  hunting  jack-rabbits. 
Tresler  joined  him  in  a  fresh  fusillade,  and  two  more 
saddles  were  emptied,  but  the  next  moment  a  gasp 
told  Arizona  that  his  comrade  w^as  hit,  and  he  turned 
only  just  in  time  to  prevent  him  reeling  out  of  the  sad- 
dle. 

**  Hold  up,  boy  ! "  he  cried.  "  Kep  your  saddle  if 
hell's  let  loose.     Til  kep  *em  busy." 

And  the  wounded  man,  actuated  by  a  similar  spirit, 
sat  bolt  upright,  while  the  two  horses  sped  on.  They 
were  round  at  the  front  again.  But  though  Arizona 
was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  his  gun  was  emptied 
and  reloaded  and  emptied  again,  it  was  a  hopeless  con- 
test— hopeless  from  the  beginning.  Tresler  was  bleed- 
ing seriously  from  a  wound  in  his  neck,  and  his  aim 
was  becoming  more  and  more  uncertain.  But  his  will 
was  fighting  hard  for  mastery  over  his  bodily  weak- 
ness.    Just  as   they  headed   again   toward   the  bluff, 


AT  WILLOW  BLUFF  283 

Arizona  gave  a  great  yank  at  his  reins  and  his  pony 
was  thrown  upon  its  haunches.  The  Lady  Jezebel,  too, 
as  though  working  in  concert  with  her  mate,  suddenly 
stopped  dead. 

The  cause  of  the  cowpuncher's  action  was  a  solitary 
horseman  standing  right  ahead  of  them  gazing  out  at 
the  blufl.  The  plainsman's  gun  was  up  in  an  instant, 
in  spite  of  the  pursuers  behind.  Death  was  in  his  eye 
as  he  took  aim,  but  at  that  instant  there  was  a  shout 
from  the  bluff,  and  the  cry  was  taken  up  behind  him — 
"  Sheriff's  posse  !  "  That  cry  lost  him  his  chance  of 
fetching  Red  Mask  down.  Before  he  could  let  the 
hammer  of  his  gun  fall,  the  horseman  had  wheeled 
about  and  vanished  in  the  darkness. 

Simultaneously  the  pursuers  swung  out,  turned,  and 
the  nexi  moment  were  in  full  retreat  under  a  perfect 
hail  of  carbine-fire  from  the  sherifl's  men. 

And  as  the  latter  followed  in  hot  pursuit,  Arizona 
hailed  them  — 

"  You've  missed  him  ;  he's  taken  the  river-bank  for  it 
It's  Red  Mask  !     I  see  him." 

But  now  Tresler  needed  all  his  friend's  attention. 
Arizona  saw  him  fall  forward  and  lie  clinging  to  his 
saddle-horn.  He  sprang  to  his  aid,  and,  dismounting, 
lifted  him  gently  to  the  ground.  Then  he  turned  his 
own  horse  loose,  leading  the  Lady  Jezebel  while  he  sup- 
ported the  sick  man  up  to  the  shack. 

Here  his  patient  fainted  dead  away,  but  he  was  equal 
to  the  emergency.  He  examined  the  wound,  and 
found  an  ugly  rent  in  the  neck,  whence  the  blood  was 
pumping  slowly.     He  saw  at  once  that  a  small  artery 


284  THE  NIGflT-RIDERS 

had  been  severed,  and  its  adjacency  to  the  jugulai 
made  it  a  matter  of  extreme  danger.  His  medical 
skill  was  small,  but  he  contrived  to  v/ash  and  bind  the 
wound  roughly.  Then  he  quietly  reloaded  his  guns, 
and,  with  the  aid  of  a  stifif  horn  of  whisky,  roused  some 
life  in  his  patient.  He  knew  it  would  only  be  a  feeble 
flicker,  but  while  it  lasted  he  wanted  to  get  him  on  to 
the  Lady  Jezebel's  back. 

This  he  contrived  after  considerable  difficulty.  The 
mare  resented  the  double  burden,  as  was  only  to  be  ex- 
pected. But  the  cowpuncher  was  desperate  and  knew^ 
how  to  handle  her. 

None  but  Arizona  would  have  attempted  such  a  feat 
with  a  horse  of  her  description  ;  but  he  must  have  speed 
if  he  was  going  to  save  his  friend's  life,  and  he  knew 
she  could  give  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO 

Daylight  was  breaking  when  the  jaded  Lady 
Jezebel  and  her  double  freight  raced  into  the  ranch. 
The  mare  had  done  the  journey  in  precisely  two  hours 
and  a  quarter.  Arizona  galloped  her  up  to  the  house 
and  rounded  the  lean-to  in  which  Joe  slept.  Then  he 
pulled  up  and  shouted.  Just  then  he  had  no  thought 
for  the  rancher  or  Jake.  He  had  thought  for  no  one 
but  Tresler. 

His  third  shout  brought  Joe  tumbhng  out  of  his  bed. 

"  Say,  I've  got  a  mighty  sick  man  here,"  he  cried, 
directly  he  heard  the  choreman  moving.  ''  Git  around 
an'  lend  a  hand  ;  gentle,  too." 

**  That  you,  Arizona  ?  "  Joe,  half  awake,  questioned, 
blinking  up  at  the  horseman  in  the  faint  light. 

"  I  guess  ;  an'  say,  'fore  I  git  answerin'  no  fool  ques- 
tions, git  a  holt  on  this  notion.  Red  Mask's  bin  around 
Willow  Bluff,  an*  Tresler's  done  up.     Savee  ?" 

"  Tresler,  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  a  girl's  voice  from 
the  kitchen  doorway.     "  Wounded  ? " 

There  was  a  world  of  fear  in  the  questions,  which 
were  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

Arizona  was  lifting  Tresler  down  into  Joe's  arms.  **  I 
'lows  I  didn't  know  you  wus  ther',  missie,"  he  replied, 
without  turning  from  his  task.     **  Careful,  Joe  ;  easy — 


286  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

easy  now.  He's  dreadful  sick,  I  guess.  Yes,  missie, 
it's  him.  They've  kind  o'  scratched  him  some. 
'Tain't  nothin'  to  gas  about ;  jest  barked  his  neck. 
Kind  o'  needs  a  bit  o'  band'ge.  Gorl  durn  you,  Joe ! 
Git  your  arm  under  his  shoulders  an'  kep  his  head 
steady ;  he'll  git  bleedin'  to  death  ef  y'  ain't  careful. 
Quiet,  you  jade  I "  he  cried  fiercely,  to  the  mare  whom 
Diane  had  frightened  with  her  white  robe  as  she  came 
to  help.  "  No,  missie,  not  you,"  Arizona  exclaimed. 
"  He's  all  blood  an'  mussed  up."  Then  he  discovered 
that  she  had  little  on  but  a  night-dress.  "  Gee  !  but  you 
ain't  wropped  up,  missie.  Jest  git  right  in.  Wal,"  as 
she  deliberately  proceeded  to  help  the  struggling  Joe, 
**  ef  you  will ;  but  Joe  ken  do  it,  I  guess.  Ther',  that's 
it.     I  ken  git  off'n  this  crazy  slut  of  a  mare  now." 

Directly  Arizona  had  quit  the  saddle  he  relieved 
Diane,  and,  with  the  utmost  gentleness,  started  to  take 
the  sick  man  into  the  lean-to.  But  the  girl  protested 
at  once. 

**  Not  in  there,"  she  said  sharply.  "  Take  him  into 
the  house.  I'll  go  and  fix  a  bed  up-stairs.  Bring  him 
through  the  kitchen." 

She  spoke  quite  calmly.     Too  calmly,  Joe  thought. 

"  To  that  house  ?  "  Arizona  protested. 

**  Yes,  yes,  of  course."  Then  the  passion  of  grief 
let  itself  loose,  and  Diane  cried,  **And  why  not? 
Where  else  should  he  go  ?  He  belongs  to  me.  Why 
do  you  stand  there  like  an  imbecile  ?  Take  him  at 
once-  Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  why  don't  you  speak  ?  Oh, 
take  him  quickly  !  You  said  he  would  bleed  to  death. 
He  isn't  dead  ?    No,  tell  me  he  isn't  dead  ?  " 


WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO  287 

"  Dead  ?  Dead  ?  Ha,  ha  1 "  Arizona  threw  all  the 
scorn  he  was  capable  of  into  the  words,  and  laughed 
with  funereal  gravity.  **  Say,  that's  real  good — real 
good.  Him  dead  ?  Wal,  I  guess  not.  Pshaw  !  Say, 
missie,  you  ain't  ast  after  my  health,  an'  Fm  guessin'  I 
oughter  be  sicker'n  him,  wi'  that  mare  o'  his.  Say, 
jest  git  right  ahead  an'  fix  that  bunk  fer  him,  like  the 
daisy  gal  you  are.  What  about  bl — your  father, 
missie?" 

"  Never  mind  father.     Come  along." 

The  man's  horse-like  attempt  at  lightness  had  its  ef- 
fect. The  girl  pulled  herself  together.  She  realized 
the  emergency.  She  knew  that  Tresler  needed  her 
help.  Arizona's  manner  had  only  emphasized  the 
gravity  of  his  case. 

She  ran  on  ahead,  and  the  other,  bearing  the  uncon- 
scious man,  followed. 

'*  Never  mind  father,"  Arizona  muttered  doubtfully. 
'*  Wal,  here  goes."  Then  he  called  back  to  Joe  :  *'  Git 
around  that  mare  an'  sling  the  saddle  on  a  fresh  plug ; 
guess  I'll  need  it." 

He  passed  through  the  kitchen,  and  stepping  into 
the  hall  he  was  startled  by  the  apparition  of  the  blind 
man  standing  in  the  doorway  of  his  bedroom.  He 
was  clad  in  his  customary  dressing-gown,  and  his  eyes 
glowed  ruddily  in  the  light  of  the  kitchen  lamp. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Tresler's  bin  done  up,"  Arizona  replied  at  once. 
**  Guess  the  gang  got  around  Willow  Bluff — God's 
curse  light  on  'em  ! " 

"  Hah  !     And  where  are  3  ou  taking  him  ?  " 


288  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Up-sta'rs,"  was  the  brief  reply.  Then  the  cow- 
puncher  bethought  him  of  his  duty  to  his  emplo3^er. 
"  Guess  the  cattle  are  safe,  fer  which  you  ken  thank  the 
sheriff's  gang.  Miss  Dianny's  hustlin'  a  bunk  fer  him/' 
he  added. 

In  spite  of  his  usual  assurance,  Arizona  never  felt 
easy  with  this  man.  Now  the  rancher's  manner  de- 
cidedly thawed. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said  gently.  "Take  the  poor  boy 
up-stairs.  You'd  better  go  for  the  doctor.  You  can 
give  me  the  details  afterward." 

He  turned  back  into  his  room,  and  the  other  passed 
up  the  stairs. 

He  laid  the  sick  man  on  the  bed,  and  pointed  out  to 
the  girl  the  bandage  on  his  neck,  advising,  in  his  prac- 
tical fashion,  its  readjustment.  Then  he  went  swiftly 
from  the  house  and  rode  into  Forks  for  Doc.  Osier,  the 
veterinary  surgeon,  the  only  available  medical  man  in 
that  part  of  the  country. 

When  Diane  found  herself  alone  with  the  man  she 
loved  stretched  out  before  her,  inert,  like  one  dead,  her 
first  inclination  was  to  sit  down  and  weep  for  him. 
She  could  face  her  own  troubles  with  a  certain  forti- 
tude, but  to  see  this  strong  man  laid  low,  perhaps  dy- 
ing, was  a  different  thing,  and  her  womanly  weakness 
was  near  to  overcoming  her.  But  though  the  unshed 
tears  filled  her  e3^es,  her  love  brought  its  courage  to  her 
aid,  and  she  approached  the  task  Arizona  had  pointed 
out. 

With  deft  fingers  she  removed  the  sodden  bandage, 
through   which   the   blood    was   slowly   oozing.     The 


WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO  289 

flow,  which  at  once  began  again,  alarmed  her,  and  set 
her  swiftly  to  work.  Now  she  understood  as  well  as 
Arizona  did  what  was  amiss.  She  hurried  out  to  her 
own  room,  and  returned  quickly  with  materials  for  re- 
bandaging,  and  her  arms  full  of  clothes.  Then,  with 
the  greatest  care,  she  proceeded  to  bind  up  the  neck, 
placing  a  cork  on  the  artery  below  the  severance.  This 
she  strapped  down  so  tightly  that,  for  the  time  at  least, 
the  bleeding  was  staunched.  Her  object  accomplished, 
she  proceeded  to  dress  herself  ready  for  the  doctor's 
coming. 

She  had  taken  her  place  at  the  bedside,  and  was 
meditating  on  what  further  could  be  done  for  her 
patient,  when  an  event  happened  on  which  she  had  in 
nowise  reckoned.  Somebody  was  ascending  the  stair 
with  the  shufBing  gait  of  one  feeling  his  way.  It  was 
her  father.  The  first  time  within  her  memory  that  he 
had  visited  the  upper  part  of  the  house. 

A  look  of  alarm  leapt  into  her  eyes  as  she  gazed  at 
the  door,  watching  for  his  coming,  and  she  realized 
only  too  well  the  possibilities  of  the  situation.  What 
would  he  say  ?     What  would  he  do  ? 

A  moment  later  she  was  facing  him  with  calm  cour- 
age. Her  fears  had  been  stifled  by  the  knowledge  ol 
her  lover's  helplessness.  One  look  at  his  dear,  uncon- 
scious form  had  done  for  her  what  nothing  else  could 
have  done.  Her  filial  duty  went  out  like  a  candle 
snuffed  with  wet  fingers.  There  was  not  even  a  spark 
left. 

Julian  Marbolt  stepped  across  the  threshold,  and  his 
head  slowly  moved  round  as  though  to  ascertain  in 


290  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

whdit  direction  his  daughter  was  sitting.  The  oil- 
iamp  seemed  to  attract  his  blind  attention,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  it ;  but  for  a  moment 
only.  Then  they  passed  on  until  they  settled  on  the 
girl. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  he  asked  coldly.  "  I  can  hear  you 
breathing.     Is  he  dead  ?  " 

Diane  sprang  up  and  bent  over  her  patient.  **  No,'* 
she  said,  half  fearing  that  her  father's  inquiry  was 
prophetic.  "  He  is  unconscious  from  loss  of  blood. 
Arizona " 

"  Tchah  !  Arizona  ! — I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Here, 
give  me  your  hand  and  lead  me  to  the  bedside.  I  will 
sit  here.     This  place  is  unfamiliar." 

Diane  did  as  she  was  bid.  She  was  pale.  A  strained 
look  was  in  her  soft  brown  eyes,  but  there  was  deter- 
mination in  the  set  of  her  lips. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  girl?"  her  father 
asked.  The  softness  of  his  speech  in  no  way  disguised 
the  iciness  of  his  manner.     **  You're  shaking." 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  she  replied 
pointedly. 

"  Ah,  thinking  of  him."  His  hand  reached  out  until 
it  rested  on  one  of  Tresler's  legs.  His  remark  seemed 
to  require  no  answer,  and  a  silence  fell  while  Diane 
watched  the  eyes  so  steadily  directed  upon  the  sick 
man.  Presently  he  went  on.  "  These  men  have  done 
well.  They  have  saved  the  cattle.  Arizona  mentioned 
the  sheriff.  I  don't  know  much  about  it  yet,  but  it 
seems  to  me  this  boy  must  have  contrived  their  assist- 
ance    Smart  work,  if  he  did  so." 


WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO  291 

*  ^  es,  father,  and  brave,"  added  the  girl  in  a  low 
tone. 

His  words  had  raised  hope  within  her.  But  with  his 
next  he  dashed  it. 

''Brave?  It  was  his  duty,"  he  snapped,  resentful 
immediately.  The  red  eyes  were  turned  upon  his 
daughter,  and  she  fancied  she  saw  something  utterly 
cruel  in  their  painful  depths.  "  You  are  uncommonly 
interested,"  he  went  on  slowly.  "  I  was  warned  before 
that  he  and  you  were  too  thick.  I  told  you  of  it — cau- 
tioned you.     Isn't  that  sufficient,  or  have  I  to " 

He  left  his  threat  unfinished. 

A  color  flushed  slowly  into  Diane's  cheeks  and  her 
eyes  sparkled. 

"  No,  it  isn't  sufficient,  father.  You  have  no  right 
to  stop  me  speaking  to  Mr.  Tresler.  I  have  bowed  to 
your  decision  with  regard  to  the  other  men  on  the 
ranch.  There,  perhaps,  you  had  a  right — a  parent's 
right.  But  it  is  different  with  Mr.  Tresler.  He  is  a 
gentieman.  As  for  character,  you  yourself  admit  it  is 
unimpeachable.  Then  what  right  have  you  to  refuse 
to  allow  me  even  speech  with  him?  It  is  absurd, 
tyrannical  ;  and  I  refuse  to  obey  you." 

The  frowning  brows  drew  sharply  down  over  the 
man's  eyes.  And  Diane  understood  the  sudden  rising 
of  storm  behind  the  mask-like  face.  She  waited  with 
a  desperate  calmness.  It  was  the  moral  bravery 
prompted  by  her  new-born  love. 

But  the  storm  held  off,  controlled  by  that  indomitable 
will  which  made  Julian  Marbolt  an  object  of  fear  to  all 
who  came  into  contact  with  him. 


292  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

**  You  are  an  ungrateful  girl,  a  foolish  girl/'  he  said 
quietly.  '*  You  are  ungrateful  that  you  refuse  to  obey 
me  ;  and  foolish,  that  you  think  to  marry  him.'' 

Diane  sprang  to  her  feet.     ''  I — now " 

"  Tut  I  Do  not  protest.  I  know  you  have  promised 
to  be  his  wife.  If  you  denied  it  you  would  lie."  He 
sat  for  a  moment  enjoying  the  girl's  discomfort.  Then 
he  went  on,  with  a  cruel  smile  about  his  lips  as  she  re- 
turned to  her  seat  with  a  movement  that  was  almost  a 
collapse.  "  That's  better,"  he  said,  following  her  action 
by  means  of  his  wonderful  instinct.  "  Now  let  us  be 
sensible — very  sensible." 

His  tone  had  become  persuasive,  such  as  might  have 
been  used  to  a  child,  and  the  girl  wondered  what 
further  cruelty  it  masked.     She  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"  You  are  going  to  give  up  this  madness,"  he  said 
coldly.  "  You  will  show  )^ourself  amenable  to  reason 
— my  reason — or  I  shall  enforce  my  demands  in  an- 
other way." 

The  girl's  exasperation  was  growing  with  each  mo- 
ment, but  she  kept  silence,  waiting  for  him  to  finish. 

"You  will  never  marry  this  man,"  he  went  on,  with 
quiet  emphasis.  "  Nor  any  other  man  while  I  live. 
There  is  no  marriage  for  you,  my  girl.  There  can  be 
no  marriage  for  you.  And  the  more  *  unimpeachable  * 
a  man's  character  the  less  the  possibility." 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  you,"  Diane  replied, 
with  a  coldness  equal  to  her  father's  own. 

"  No ;  perhaps  you  don't."  The  man  chuckled 
fiendishly. 

Tears    sprang  into  the  girl's  eyes.     She  could  no 


WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO  293 

longer  check  them.     And  with  them  came  the  protest 
that  she  was  also  pow-erless  to  withhold. 

"  Why  may  I  not  marry  ?  Why  can  I  not  marry  ? 
Surely  I  can  claim  the  right  of  every  woman  to  marry 
the  man  of  her  choice.  I  know  you  have  no  good  will 
for  me,  father.  Why,  I  cannot  understand.  I  have 
always  obeyed  you  ;  I  have  ever  striven  to  do  my  duty. 
If  there  has  never  been  any  gieat  affection  displayed, 
it  is  not  my  fault.  For,  ever  since  I  can  remember, 
you  have  done  your  best  to  kill  the  love  I  would  have 
given  you.  How  have  I  been  ungrateful  ?  What 
have  I  to  be  grateful  for  ?  I  cannot  remember  one 
single  kindness  you  have  ever  shown  me.  You  have 
set  up  a  barrier  between  me  and  the  world  outside  this 
ranch.  I  am  a  prisoner  here.  Why  ?  Am  I  so  hate- 
ful ?  Have  I  no  claims  on  your  toleration  ?  Am  I  not 
your  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  " 

"  No  ! " 

The  man's  answer  came  with  staggering  force.  It 
was  the  bursting  of  the  storm  of  passion,  which  even 
his  will  could  no  longer  restrain.  But  it  was  the  whole 
storm,  for  he  w^ent  no  further.  It  was  Diane  who  spoke 
next.  Her  cheeks  had  assumed  an  ashen  hue,  and  her 
lips  trembled  so  that  she  could  scarcely  frame  her 
words. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  Tut !  Your  crazy  obstinacy  drives  me  to  it/'  her 
father  answered  impatiently,  but  with  perfect  control 
*'  Oh,  you  need  have  no  fear.  There  is  no  legal  shame 
to  you.  But  there  is  that  which  will  hit  you  harder,  I 
think.'* 


294  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Father  !     What  are  you  saying  ? " 

Something  of  the  man's  meaning  was  growing  upon 
her.  Old  hints  and  innuendoes  against  her  mother 
were  recalled  by  his  words.  Her  throat  parched  while 
she  watched  the  relentless  face  of  this  man  who  was 
still  her  father. 

**  Saying  ?  You  know  the  story  of  my  blindness. 
You  know  I  spent  three  years  visiting  nearly  every 
eye-doctor  in  Europe.  But  what  you  don't  know,  and 
shall  know,  is  that  I  returned  home  to  Jamaica  at  the 
end  of  that  time  to  find  myself  the  father  of  a  three- 
days'-old  baby  girl."  The  man's  teeth  were  clenched, 
rage  and  pain  distorted  his  face,  rendering  his  sightless 
stare  a  hideous  thing.  **  Yes,"  he  went  on,  but  now 
more  to  himself,  "  I  returned  home  to  that,  and  in  time 
to  hear  the  last  words  your  mother  uttered  in  life  ;  in 
time  to  feel — feel  her  death-struggles."  He  mouthed  his 
words  with  unmistakable  relish,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

Diane  fell  back  with  a  bitter  cry.  The  cry  roused 
her  father. 

"  Well?  "  he  continued.  ''  You'll  give  this  man  up 
—now?" 

For  some  minutes  there  was  no  answer.  The  girl 
sat  like  a  statue  carved  in  dead  white  stone  ;  and  the 
expression  of  her  face  was  as  stony  as  the  mould  of  her 
features.  Her  blood  was  chilled  ;  her  brain  refused  its 
office ;  and  her  heart — it  was  as  though  that  fount  of 
life  lay  crushed  within  her  bosom.  Even  the  man 
lying  sick  on  the  bed  beside  her  had  no  meaning  for  her 

''Well?"  her  father  demanded  impatiently.  **You 
are  going  to  give  Tresler  up  now  ?  " 


WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO  295 

She  heard  him  this  time.  With  a  rush  everything 
came  to  her,  and  a  feeling  of  utter  helplessness  swept 
over  her.  Oh,  the  shame  of  it !  Suddenly  she  flung 
forward  on  the  bed  and  sobbed  her  heart  out  beside  the 
man  she  must  give  up.  He  had  been  the  one  bright 
ray  in  the  dull  gray  of  her  life.  His  love,  come  so 
quickly,  so  suddenly,  to  her  had  leavened  the  memory 
of  her  unloved  years.  Their  recollection  had  been 
thrust  into  the  background  to  give  place  to  the  sun- 
shine of  a  precious  first  love.  And  now  it  must  all  go. 
There  was  no  other  course  open  to  her,  she  told  her- 
self; and  in  this  decision  was  revealed  her  father's 
consummate  devilishness.  He  understood  her  straight- 
forward pride,  if  he  had  no  appreciation  of  it.  Then, 
suddenly,  there  came  a  feeling  of  resentment  and 
hatred  for  the  author  of  her  misfortune,  and  she  sat  up 
with  the  tears  only  half  dry  on  her  cheeks.  Her  fa- 
ther's dead  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  their  hateful  depths 
seemed  to  be  searching  her.  She  knew  she  must  sub- 
mit to  his  will.  He  mastered  her  as  he  mastered 
everybody  else. 

*'  It  is  not  what  I  will,'*  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
understand ;  our  lives  must  remain  apart."  Then 
anger  brought  harshness  into  her  tone.  "  I  would 
have  given  him  up  of  my  own  accord  had  I  known.  I 
could  not  have  thrust  the  shame  of  my  birth  upon  him. 
But  you — you  have  kept  this  from  me  all  these  years, 
saving  it,  in  your  heartless  way,  for  such  a  moment  as 
this.  Why  have  you  told  me?  Why  do  you  keep  me 
at  your  side?     Oh,  I  hate  you  ! " 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course  you  do,"  her  father  said,  quite 


296  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

unmoved  by  her  attack.  "  Now  you  are  tasting  some< 
thing — only  something — of  the  bitterness  of  my  life. 
And  it  is  good  that  you  should.  The  parent's  sins — ■ 
the  children.     Yes,  you  certainly  can  feel " 

"  For  heaven's  sake  leave  me  1  "  the  girl  broke  in, 
unable  to  stand  the  taunting — the  hideous  enjoyment 
of  the  man. 

'^Not  yet;  I  haven't  done.     This  man "     The 

rancher  leant  over  the  bed,  and  one  hand  felt  its  way 
over  Tresler's  body  until  it  rested  over  his  heart.  '*  At 
one  time  I  was  glad  he  came  here.  I  had  reasons. 
His  money  was  as  good  as  in  my  pocket.  He  would 
have  bought  stock  from  me  at  a  goodish  profit.  Now 
I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  would  sacrifice  that.  It 
would  be  better  perhaps— perhaps.  No,  he  is  not  dead 
yet.  But  he  may  die,  eh,  Diane  ?  It  would  be  better 
were  he  to  die  ;  it  would  save  your  explanation  to  him. 
Yes,  let  him  die.  You  are  not  going  to  marry  him. 
You  would  not  care  to  see  him  marry  another,  as,  of 
course,  he  will.  Let  him  die.  Love?  Love?  Why, 
it  would  be  kindness  to  yourselves.     Yes,  let  him  die." 

"  You — you — wTetch  ! "  Diane  was  on  her  feet,  and 
her  eyes  blazed  down  upon  the  cruel,  working  face  be- 
fore her.  The  cry  was  literally  wrung  from  her.  **And 
that  is  the  man  who  w^as  ready  to  give  his  life  for  your 
interests.  That  is  the  man  whose  cleverness  and 
bravery  you  even  praised.  You  want  me  to  refuse 
him  the  trifling  aid  I  can  give  him.  You  are  a  mon- 
ster !  You  have  parted  us,  but  it  is  not  sufBcient ;  you 
want  his  life." 

She  suddenly  bent  over  and  seized  her  father's  hand, 


WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO  297 

where  it  rested  upon  Tresler's  heart,  and  dragged  it 
away. 

"  Take  your  hand  of!  him ;  don't  touch  him  ! "  she 
cried  in  a  frenzy.     "  You  are  not " 

But  she  got  no  further.  Tlie  lean,  sinewy  hand  had 
closed  over  hers,  and  held  them  both  as  in  a  vice  ;  and 
the  pressure  made  her  cry  out. 

"  Listen  I  "  he  said  fiercely.  He,  too,  was  standing 
now%  and  his  tall  figure  dwarfed  hers.  '*  He  is  to  be 
moved  out  of  here.  I  will  have  Jake  to  see  to  it  in  the 
morning.  And  you  shall  know  what  it  is  to  thwart 
me  if  you  dare  to  interfere." 

He  abruptly  released  her  hands  and  turned  away ; 
but  he  shot  round  again  as  he  heard  her  reply. 

"  I  shall  nurse  him,"  she  said. 

"You  wall  not.'" 

The  girl  laughed  hystericall3^  The  scene  had  been 
too  much  for  her,  and  she  was  on  the  verge  of  break- 
ing down. 

"  We  shall  see,"  she  cried  after  him,  as  he  passed 
out  of  the  room. 

The  whole  ranch  was  astir  when  Arizona  returned 
with  Doc.  Osier.  Nor  did  they  come  alone.  Fyles 
had  met  them  on  the  trail.  He  had  just  returned  from 
a  fruitless  pursuit  of  the  raiders.  He  had  personally 
endeavored  to  track  Red  Mask,  but  the  rustler  had 
evaded  him  in  the  thick  bush  that  lined  the  river ;  and 
his  men  had  been  equally  unsuccessful  with  the  rest  of 
the  band.  The  hills  had  been  their  goal,  and  they  had 
made  it  through  the  excellence  of  their  horses.  Al- 
though the  pursuers  were  well  mounted   their  horses 


298  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

were  heavier,  and  lost  ground  hopelessly  in  the  midst 
of  the  broken  land  of  the  foot-hills. 

Jake  was  closeted  with  the  rancher  at  the  coming  oi 
the  doctor  and  his  companions  ;  but  their  confabula- 
tion was  brought  to  an  abrupt  termination  at  once. 

The  doctor  went  to  the  wounded  man,  who  still  re- 
mained unconscious,  while  Fyles  joined  the  rancher 
and  his  foreman  in  a  discussion  of  the  night's  doings. 
And  while  these  things  were  going  on  Arizona  and  Joe 
shared  the  hospitality  of  the  lean-to. 

The  meeting  in  the  rancher's  den  had  not  proceeded 
far  when  a  summons  from  up-stairs  cut  it  short.  Diane 
brought  a  message  from  the  doctor  asking  her  father 
and  the  sheriff  to  join  him.  Marbolt  displayed  unusual 
alacrity,  and  Fyles  followed  him  as  he  tapped  his  way 
up  to  the  sick-room.  Here  the  stick  was  abandoned, 
and  he  was  led  to  his  seat  by  his  daughter.  Diane  was 
pale,  but  alert  and  determined  ;  while  her  father  w^ore  a 
gentle  look  of  the  utmost  concern.  The  doctor  was 
standing  beside  the  window  gazing  out  over  the  pas- 
tures, but  he  turned  at  once  as  they  came  in. 

*'  A  nasty  case,  Mr.  Marbolt,*'  he  said,  the  moment 
the  rancher  had  taken  up  his  position.  *•  A  very  nasty 
case.'*  He  was  a  brusque  little  man  with  a  pair  of  keen 
black  eyes,  which  he  turned  on  the  blind  man  curiously, 
''  An  artery  cut  by  bullet.  Small  artery.  Your  daugh- 
ter most  cleverly  stopped  bleeding.  Many  thanks  to 
her.  Patient  lost  gallons  of  blood.  Precarious  posi- 
tion— very.  No  danger  from  wound  now.  Exhaus- 
tion only.  Should  he  bleed  again — death.  But  he 
won't ;   artery  tied   up   securely.     Miss  Marbolt  says 


WHAT  LOVE  WILL  DO  299 

vou  desire  patient  removed  to  usual  quarters.  I 
say  no  1  Remove  him — artery  break  afresh — death. 
Sheriff,  I  order  distinctly  this  man  remains  where  he 
is.     Am  I  right  ?     Have  I  right  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly."  Then  Fyles  turned  upon  the  bhnd 
nan.  "  His  orders  are  your  law,  Mr.  Marbolt,"  he  said. 
*  And  you,  of  course,  will  be  held  responsible  for  any 
•/iolation  of  them." 

The  blind  man  nodded  in  acquiescence. 

"  Good,"  said  the  doctor,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  Noth* 
ing  more  for  me  now  Return  to-morrow.  Miss  Mar- 
bolt,  admirable  nurse.  Wish  I  was  patient.  He  will 
be  about  again  in  two  weeks.  Artery  small.  Health 
good — young.  Oh,  yes,  no  fear.  Only  exhaustion. 
Hope  you  catch  villains.  Good-morning.  Might  have 
severed  jugular — near  shave." 

Doc.  Osier  bowed  to  the  girl  and  passed  out  mutter- 
ing, " Capital  nurse — beautiful."  His  departure  brought 
the  rancher  to  his  feet,  and  he  groped  his  way  to  the 
door.  As  he  passed  his  daughter  he  paused  and 
gently  patted  her  on  the  back. 

*'  Ah,  child,"  he  said,  with  a  world  of  tolerant  kind- 
ness in  his  voice,  "I  still  think  you  are  wrong.  He 
would  have  been  far  better  in  his  own  quarters,  his 
familiar  surroundings,  and  amongst  his  friends.  You 
are  quite  inexperienced,  and  these  men  understand 
bullet  wounds  as  well  as  any  doctor.  However,  have 
your  way.     I  hope  you  won't  have  cause  to  regret  it." 

"All  right,  father,"  Diane  replied,  without  turning 
her  eyes  from  the  contemplation  of  her  sick  lover. 

And  Fyles,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  watching 


300  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

the  scene,  speculated  shrewdly  as  to  the  relations  in 
which  the  girl  and  her  patient  stood,  and  the  possible 
oarental  disapproval  of  the  same.  Certainly  he  had  no 
idea  of  the  matters  which  had  led  up  to  the  necessity 
br  his  official  s^trvices  to  enforce  the  doctor's  orders. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  LIGHTED  LAMP 

Diane  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  her  ismall 
victory.  She  had  gained  her  point,  it  is  true,  but  she 
had  gained  it  by  means  which  gave  no  promise  of  a 
happy  outcome  to  her  purpose. 

Left  alone  with  her  patient  she  had  Httle  to  do  but 
reflect  on  her  position,  and  her  thoughts  brought  her 
many  a  sigh,  much  heart-racking  and  anxiety.  For 
herself  she  allowed  little  thought.  Her  mind  was  made 
up  as  to  her  future.  Her  love  was  to  be  snatched  away 
while  yet  the  first  sweet  glamour  of  it  was  upon  her. 
Every  hope,  every  little  castle  she  had  raised  in  her 
maiden  thoughts,  had  been  ruthlessly  shattered,  and 
the  oudook  of  her  future  was  one  dull  gray  vista  of 
hopelessness.  It  was  the  old  order  accentuated,  and 
the  pain  of  it  gripped  her  heart  with  every  moment  she 
gave  to  its  contemplation.  Happily  the  life  she  had 
lived  had  strengthened  her  ;  she  was  not  the  girl  to 
weep  at  every  ill  that  befell.  The  first  shock  had 
driven  her  to  tears,  but  that  had  passed.  She  was  of  a 
nature  that  can  suffer  bravely,  and  face  the  world  dry- 
eyed,  gently,  keeping  the  bitterness  of  her  lot  to  her- 
self, and  hiding  her  own  pain  under  an  earnest  attempt 
to  help  others. 

Tresler  was  her  all ;  and  that  all  meant  far  more  than 


302  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

mere  earthly  love.  To  her  he  was  something  that  musi 
be  cherished  as  a  priceless  gem  entrusted  to  her  care, 
and  his  honor  was  more  sacred  to  her  than  her  own. 
Therefore  all  personal  considerations  must  be  passed 
over,  and  she  must  give  him  up. 

But  if  his  honor  was  safe  in  her  keeping,  his  per- 
sonal safety  was  another  matter.  In  pitting  herself 
against  her  father's  will  she  fully  realized  the  danger 
she  was  incurring.  Therefore  she  racked  her  sorely 
taxed  brain  for  the  best  means  of  safeguarding  her 
charge. 

She  hardly  knew  what  she  feared.  There  was  no 
real  danger  she  could  think  of,  but  her  instinct  warned 
her  to  watchfulness,  to  be  prepared  for  anything.  She 
felt  sure  that  her  father  would  seek  some  means  of 
circumventing  the  sheriff's  mandate.  What  form  would 
his  attempt  take  ? 

After  half  an  hour's  hard  thinking  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  consult  her  wise  old  counselor,  Joe,  and  enlist 
his  aid.  With  this  object  in  view  she  went  down-stairs 
and  visited  the  lean-to.  Here  she  found  both  Arizona 
and  Joe.  Arizona  was  waiting  a  summons  from  the 
rancher,  who  was  still  busy  with  Jake  and  Fyles.  At 
first  she  thought  of  consulting  her  adviser  privately, 
but  finally  decided  to  take  both  men  into  her  confi- 
dence ;  and  this  the  more  readily  since  she  knew  her 
lover's  liking  for  the  hot-headed  cowpuncher. 

Both  men  stood  up  as  she  entered.  Arizona  dragged 
his  slouch  hat  ofT  with  clumsy  haste. 

*'  Boys,"  the  girl  said  at  once,  **  I've  come  to  ask  you 
for  a  little  help.'* 


Left  alone  with  her  patient  she  had  Httle  to  do  but  reflect 


THE  LIGHTED  LAMP  30^ 

"  Makes  me  glad,  missie,'*  said  the  cowpuncher,  with 
alacrity. 

Joe  contented  himself  with  an  upward  glance  of  in 
quiry. 

Diane  nodded  with  an  assumption  of  brightness. 

"  Well,  it's  this/*  she  said.  ''Jack  mustn't  be  left  for 
the  next  few  days.  Now,  I  am  his  nurse,  but  I  have 
household  duties  to  perform  and  shall  be  forced  to  leave 
him  at  times.  You,  Arizona,  won't  be  able  to  do  any- 
thing in  the  daytime,  because  you  are  occupied  on  the 
ranch.  But  I  thought  you,  Joe,  could  help  me  by  being 
in  the  kitchen  as  much  as  possible.  You  see,  in  the 
kitchen  you  can  hear  the  least  sound  coming  from  up- 
stairs. The  room  is  directly  overhead.  In  that  way  1 
shall  be  free  to  do  my  house." 

"  Guess  you  had  trouble  fixin'  him  up-stairs  ? "  Joe 
inquired  slowly.  "  Doc.  Osier  wus  sayin'  somethin' 
'fore  he  went." 

Diane  turned  away.  The  shrewd  old  eyes  were 
reading  her  like  a  book. 

**  Yes,  father  wanted  him  put  in  the  bunkhouse." 

**  Ah."  Joe's  twisted  face  took  on  a  curious  look. 
''  Yes,  I  guess  I  ken  do  that.  What's  to  happen  o'  night 
time?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  sit  up  with  him.  The  night  is  all  right," 
the  girl  returned  easily. 

**  Guess  we'd  best  take  it  turn  about  like,"  Joe  sug- 
gested. 

''  No,  it  wouldn't  do." 

"  Guess  it  wouldn't  do.  That's  so,"  the  other  ob- 
served thoughtfully.     "  Howsum,  I  ken  set  around  the 


304  THE  KIGHi-RiDERS 

kitchen  o*  nights.  I  shan't  need  no  lights.  Y'  see,  wi* 
the  door  open  right  into  the  hall  ther'  ain't  no  sound  but 
what  I'll  hear." 

The  man's  meaning  was  plain. enough,  but  the  girl 
would  not  take  it. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it's  in  the  daytime  I  want  you." 

"Daytime?  I  guess  that's  fixed."  Joe  looked  up 
dissatisfied. 

At  this  juncture  Arizona  broke  in  with  a  scheme  for 
his  own  usefulness. 

"  Say,  missie,  any  time  o'  night  you  jest  tap  hard  on 
that  windy  I'll  know  you  want  the  doc.  fetchin'.  An' 
I'll  come  right  along  up  an'  git  orders.  I'll  be  waitin' 
around." 

The  girl  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes,  seeking  the 
meaning  that  lay  behind  his  words.  But  the  man's  ex- 
pression was  sphinx-like.  She  felt  that  these  rough 
creatures,  instead  of  acting  as  advisers,  had  assumed  the 
responsibilities  she  had  only  asked  their  assistance  in. 

*'  You  are  good  fellows  both.  I  can't  thank  you  ;  but 
you've  taken  a  weight  ofT  my  mind.'* 

*'  Ther'  ain't  no  thanks,  missie.  I  figger  as  a  doc.  is 
an  a'mighty  ne'sary  thing  when  a  feller's  sick,"  observed 
Arizona,  quietly. 

*'  Spec'ally  at  night  time,"  put  in  Joe,  seriously. 

'*  I'll  get  back  to  my  patient,"  Diane  said  abruptly. 
And  as  she  flitted  away  to  the  house  the  men  heard  the 
heavy  tread  of  Jake  coming  round  the  lean-to  and  un- 
derstood the  hastiness  of  her  retreat. 

The  next  minute  the  foreman  had  summoned  Arizona 
to  the  rancher's  presence. 


THE  LIGHTED  LAMP  305 

Diane  had  done  well  to  enlist  the  help  of  these  men. 
Without  some  aid  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  look 
after  Tresler.  She  feared  her  father,  as  well  she  might. 
What  would  be  easier  than  for  him  to  get  her  out  of  the 
way,  and  then  have  Jake  deport  her  patient  to  the  bunk- 
house  ?  Doc.  Osier's  threats  of  life  or  death  had  been 
exaggerated  to  help  her  carry  her  point,  she  knew,  and, 
also,  she  fully  realized  that  her  father  understood  this 
was  so.  He  was  not  the  man  to  be  scared  of  any  bogey 
like  that.  Besides,  his  parting  words,  so  gentle,  so 
kindly  ;  she  had  grown  to  distrust  him  most  in  his  gen- 
tler moods. 

All  that  day,  assisted  by  Joe,  she  watched  at  the  sick- 
bed. Tresler  was  never  left  for  long ;  and  when  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  leave  him  Joe's  sharp  ears  were 
straining  for  any  alarming  sound,  and,  unauthorized  by 
Diane,  his  eyes  were  on  the  hallway,  watching  the 
rancher's  bedroom  door.  He  had  no  compunction  in 
admitting  his  fears  to  himself.  He  had  wormed  the 
whole  story'of  the  rancher's  anger  at  Tresler's  presence 
in  the  house  from  his  young  mistress,  and,  also,  he  un- 
derstood that  Diane's  engagement  to  her  patient  was 
known  to  her  father.  Therefore  his  lynx  eyes  never 
closed,  his  keen  ears  were  ever  strained,  and  he  moved 
about  with  a  gun  in  his  hip-pocket.  He  didn't  know 
what  might  happen,  but  his  movements  conveyed  his 
opinion  of  the  man  with  whom  they  had  to  deal.  Ari- 
zona had  been  despatched  with  Fyles  to  Willow  BlufT* 
There  were  wounded  men  there  to  be  identified,  and 
the  officer  wanted  his  aid  in  examining  the  battle* 
field. 


3o6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  But  he'll  git  around  to-night,"  Joe  had  said,  after 
bringing  the  news  to  Diane.  "  Sure — sure  as  pinewood 
breeds  bugs." 

And  the  girl  was  satisfied.  The  day  wore  on,  and 
night  brought  no  fresh  anxiety.  Diane  was  at  her 
post,  Joe  was  alert,  and  though  no  one  had  heard  of 
Arizona's  return,  twice,  in  the  small  hours,  the  chore- 
man  heard  a  footfall  outside  his  lean-to,  and  he  made 
a  shrewd  guess  as  to  whose  it  was. 

The  second  and  third  day  passed  satisfactorily,  but 
still  Tresler  displayed  no  sign  of  life.  He  lay  on  the 
bed  just  as  he  had  been  originally  placed  there.  Each 
day  the  brusque  little  doctor  drove  out  from  Forks,  and 
each  day  he  went  back  leaving  little  encouragement  be- 
hind him.  Before  he  went  away,  after  his  third  visit, 
he  shook  his  head  gravely  in  response  to  the  nurse's 
eager  inquiries. 

**  He's  got  to  get  busy  soon,"  he  said,  as  he  returned 
his  liniments  and  medical  stores  to  his  bag.  "  Don't 
like  it.    Bad — very  bad.    Nature  exhausting.     He  must 

rouse  soon — or  death.   Three  days Tut,  tut !   Still 

no  sign.  Cheer  up,  nurse.  Give  him  three  more.  Then 
drastic  treatment.  Won't  come  till  he  wakes — no  use. 
Send  for  me.  Good  girl.  Stick  to  it.  Sorry.  Good- 
bye." 

And  patting  Diane  on  the  back  the  man  bustled  out 
in  his  jerky  fashion,  leaving  her  weeping  over  the  ver- 
dict he  had  left  behind. 

It  was  the  strain  of  watching  that  had  unnerved  her. 
She  was  bodily  and  mentally  weary.  Her  eyes  and 
head  ached  with  the  seemingly  endless  vigil.     Three 


THE  LIGHTED  LAMP  307 

days  and  nights  and  barely  six  hours'  sleep  over  all, 
and  those  only  snatched  at  broken  intervals. 

And  now  another  night  confronted  her.  So  over- 
wrought was  she  that  she  even  thought  of  seeking  the 
aid  old  Joe  had  proffered.  She  thought  quite  seriously 
of  it  for  some  moments.  Could  she  not  smuggle  him 
up-stairs  after  her  father  had  had  his  supper  and  retired 
to  his  bedroom?  She  had  no  idea  that  Joe  had,  secredy, 
spent  almost  as  much  time  on  the  watch  as  she  had 
done.  However,  she  came  to  no  actual  decision,  and 
went  wearily  down  and  prepared  the  evening  meal. 
She  waited  on  the  blind  man  in  her  usual  patient,  silent 
manner,  and  afterward  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and 
prepared  to  face  the  long  dreary  night, 

Joe  was  finishing  the  washing-up.  He  was  longer 
over  it  than  usual,  though  he  had  acquired  a  wonderful 
proficiency  hi  his  culinary  duties  since  he  was  first  em- 
ployed on  the  ranch.  Diane  paid  little  heed  to  him, 
and  as  soon  as  her  share  of  the  work  was  finished,  pre- 
pared to  retire  up-stairs. 

"  There's  just  the  sweeping  up,  Joe,"  she  said. 
*'  When  you've  finished  that  we  are  through.  I  must 
go  up  to  him." 

Joe  glanced  round  from  his  washing-trough,  outwent 
on  with  his  work. 

'*  He  ain't  showed  no  sign.  Miss  Dianny  ?  "  he  asked 
eagerly. 

"  No,  Joe." 

The  girl  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper,  leaning  against 
the  table  with  a  deep  sigh  of  weariness. 

**  Say,  Miss  Dianny,"  the  little  man  suggested  softly, 


3o8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"that  doc.  feller  said  mebbe  he'd  give  him  three  days. 
It's  a  real  long  spell.  Seems  to  me  you'll  need  to  be 
up  an'  around  come  that  time." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  *up  and  around,'  Joe." 

The  grizzled  old  head  shook  doubtfully,  and  he  moved 
away  from  his  trough,  drying  his  hands,  and  came  over 
to  where  she  was  standing. 

"  Say,  I  jest  can't  sleep  noways.  I'm  like  that,  I 
guess,  I  git  spells.  I  wus  kind  o'  thinkin'  mebbe  I'd 
set  around  like.  A  good  night's  slep  'ud  fix  you  right. 
I've  heerd  tell  as  folks  kind  o'  influences  their  patiences 
some.  You  bein'  tired,  an'  sleppy,  an'  miser'ble,  now 
mebbe  that's  jest  wot's  keppin'  him  back " 

Diane  shook  her  head.  She  saw  through  his  round- 
about subterfuge,  and  its  kindliness  touched  her. 

"  No,  no,  Joe,"  she  said  almost  tenderly.  *'  Not  on 
your  life.  You  would  give  me  your  last  crust  if  you 
were  starving.  You  are  doing  all,  and  more  than  any 
one  else  would  do  for  me,  and  I  will  accept  nothing 
further." 

"  You're  figgerin'  wrong,"  he  retorted  quite  harshly. 
"  'Tain't  fer  you.  No,  no,  it's  fer  him.  Y'  see  we're 
kind  o'  dependin'  on  him,  Arizona  an'  me " 

"  What  for  ? "  the  girl  asked  quietly. 

"  Wal,  y'  see — wal— it's  like  this.  He's  goin'  to  be 
a  rancher.  Yes,  don't  y'  see?"  he  asked,  with  a  pitiful 
attempt  at  a  knowing  leer. 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Say,  mebbe  Arizona  an'  me'll  git  a  nice  little  job— • 
a  nice  little  job.     Eh  ?  " 

*  You  are  talking  nonsense,  and  you  know  it." 


THE  LIGHTED  LAMP  309 

"Eh?     What?'^ 

The  little  man  stood  abashed  at  the  girl's  tone. 

'*  You're  only  saying  all  this  to  get  me  to  sleep  to- 
night, instead  of  sitting  up.  Well,  I'm  not  going  to. 
You  thinking  of  mercenary  things  like  that.  Oh,  Joe, 
it's  almost  funny." 

Joe's  face  flushed  as  far  as  it  was  capable  of  flushing. 

"  Wal,"  he  said,  **  1  jest  thought  ther'  wa'n't  no  use 
in  two  o'  us  settin'  up." 

*'  Nor  is  there.  I'm  going  to  do  it.  You've  made 
me  feel  quite  fresh  with  your  silly  talk." 

*'  Ah,  mebbe.     Guess  I'll  swep  up." 

Diane  took  the  hint  and  went  up-stairs,  her  eyes 
brimming  with  tears.  In  her  present  state  of  unhappi- 
ness  Joe's  utter  unselfishness  was  more  than  she  could 
bean 

She  took  her  place  at  the  bedside,  determined  to  sit 
there  as  long  as  she  could  keep  awake,  afterward  she 
would  adopt  a  "  sentry-go "  in  the  passage.  For  an 
hour  she  battled  with  sleep.  She  kept  her  eyes  open, 
but  her  senses  were  dull  and  she  passed  the  time  in  a 
sort  of  dream,  a  nasty,  fanciful  dream,  in  which  Tresler 
was  lying  dead  on  the  bed  beside  her,  and  she  was 
going  through  the  agony  of  realization.  She  was 
mourning  him,  living  on  in  the  dreary  round  of  her 
life  under  her  father's  roof,  listening  to  his  daily  sneers, 
and  submitting  to  his  studied  cruelties.  No  doubt  this 
waking  dream  would  have  continued  until  real  sleep 
had  stolen  upon  her  unawares,  but,  after  an  hour, 
something  occurred  to  fully  arouse  her.  There  was  a 
distinct  movement  on  the  bed.     Tresler  had  suddenly 


3IO  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

drawn  up  one  arm,  which,  almost  immediately,  fell 
again  on  the  coverlet,  as  though  the  spasmodic  move 
ment  had  been  uncontrolled  by  any  power  either  men- 
tal  or  physical. 

She  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant,  bending  over  him 
ready  to  administer  the  drugs  Doc.  Osier  had  left  with 
her.  And  by  the  light  of  the  shaded  lamp  she  saw  a 
distinct  change  in  the  pallor  of  his  face.  It  was  no 
longer  death-like ;  there  was  a  tinge  of  life,  however 
faint,  in  the  drawn  features.  And  as  she  beheld  it  she 
could  have  cried  aloud  in  her  joy. 

She  administered  the  restoratives  and  returned  to 
her  seat  with  a  fast-beating  heart.  And  suddenl}^  she 
remembered  with  alarm  how  near  sleep  she  had  been. 
She  rose  abruptly  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  The 
moment  was  a  critical  one.  Her  lover  might  regain 
consciousness  at  any  time.  And  with  this  thought 
came  an  access  of  caution.  She  went  out  on  the  land- 
ing and  looked  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Then  she 
crept  back.  An  inspiration  had  come  to  her.  She 
would  barricade  the  approach,  and  though  even  to 
herself  she  did  not  admit  the  thought,  it  was  the  recol- 
lection of  her  father's  blindness  that  prompted  her. 

Taking  two  chairs  she  propped  them  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs  in  such  a  position  that  the  least  accidental 
touch  would  topple  them  headlong.  The  scheme  ap- 
pealed to  her.  Then,  dreading  sleep  more  than  ever, 
she  took  up  her  "sentry-go  '*  on  the  landing,  glancing 
in  at  the  sick-room  at  every  turn  in  her  walk. 

The  hours  dragged  wearily  on.  Tresler  gave  no 
further  sign.     It  w^as  after  midnight,  and  the  girl's  eyes 


THE  LIGHTED  LAMP  311 

refused  to  keep  open  any  longer  ;  added  to  which  she 
frequently  stumbled  as  she  paced  to  and  fro.  In  des- 
peration she  fetched  the  lamp  from  the  sick-room  and 
passed  into  her  own,  and  bathed  her  face  in  cold  water. 
Then  she  busied  herself  with  tidying  the  place  up. 
Anything  to  keep  herself  awake.  After  a  while,  feeling 
better,  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  to  rest.  It  was 
a  fatal  mistake.  Her  eyes  closed  against  all  effort  of 
will.  She  was  helpless.  Nothing  could  have  stopped 
her.     Exhausted  nature  claimed  her — and  she  slept. 

And  Tresler  was  rousing.  His  constitution  had 
asserted  itself,  and  the  restorative  Diane  had  adminis- 
tered was  doing  the  rest.  He  moved  several  times, 
but  as  yet  his  strength  was  insufficient  to  rouse  him  to 
full  consciousness.  He  lay  there  with  his  brain  strug- 
gling against  his  overwhelming  weakness.  Thought 
was  hard  at  work  with  the  mistiness  of  dreamingc  He 
was  half  aware  that  he  was  stretched  out  upon  a  bed, 
yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  bound  down  with 
fetters  of  iron,  which  resisted  his  wildest  efforts  to 
break.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  struggling 
fiercely,  and  that  Jake  was  looking  on  mocking  him. 
At  last,  utterly  weary  and  exhausted  he  gave  up  trying 
and  called  upon  Arizona.  He  shouted  loudly,  but  he 
could  not  hear  his  own  voice  ;  he  shouted  again  and 
again,  raising  his  screams  to  a  fearful  pitch,  but  still 
no  sound  came.  Then  he  thought  that  Jake  went 
away,  and  he  was  left  utterly  alone.  He  lay  quite  still 
waiting,  and  presently  he  realized  that  he  was  stretched 
out  on  the  prairie,  staked  down  to  the  ground  by 
shackles  securing  his  hands  and  feet ;  and  the  moon 


312  THE  MIGHT-RIDERS 

was  shining,  and  he  could  hear  the  distant  sound  of 
the  coyotes  and  prairie  dogs.  This  brought  him  to  a 
full  understanding.  His  enemies  had  done  this  thing 
so  that  he  should  be  eaten  alive  by  the  starving  scav- 
engers of  the  prairie.  He  pondered  long  ;  wondering, 
as  the  cries  of  the  coyotes  drew  nea.rer,  how  long  it 
would,  be  before  the  first  of  the  loathsome  creatures 
would  attack  him.  Now  he  could  see  their  forms  in 
the  moonlight.  They  came  slowly,  slowly.  One  much 
bigger  than  the  rest  was  leading ;  and  as  the  creature 
drev/  near  he  saw  that  it  had  the  face  of  the  rancher, 
whose  blind  eyes  shone  out  like  two  coals  of  fire  in  the 
moonlight.  It  reared  itself  on  its  hind  legs,  and  to  his 
utter  astonishment,  as  this  man- wolf  stood  gazing  down 
upon  him,  he  saw  that  it  was  wearing  the  dressing- 
gown  in  which  the  rancher  always  appeared.  It  was 
a  weird  apparition,  and  the  shackled  man  felt  the  force 
of  those  savage,  glowing  eyes,  gazing  so  cruelly  into 
his.  But  there  could  be  no  resistance,  he  was  utterly 
at  the  creature's  mercy.  He  saw  the  gleaming  teeth 
bared  in  anticipation  of  the  meal  awaiting  it,  but,  with 
wolf-like  cunning,  it  dissembled.  It  moved  around, 
gazing  in  every  direction  to  see  that  the  coast  was 
clear,  it  paused  and  stood  listening ;  then  it  came  on. 
Now  it  was  standing  near  him,  and  he  could  feel  the 
warmth  of  its  reeking  breath  blowing  on  his  face. 
Lower  drooped  its  head,  and  its  front  feet,  which  he 
recognized  as  hands,  were  placed  upon  his  neck. 
Then  a  faint  and  distant  voice  reached  him,  and  he 
knew  that  this  man- wolf  was  speaking.  *'  So  you'd 
marry  her,"  it  said.     "  You  I    But  we'll  take  no  chances 


THE  LIGHIED  LAMP  3^3 

— no  chances.  I  could  tear  your  throat  out,  but  I 
won't ;  no,  I  won't  do  that.  A  little  blood — just  a 
little."  And  then  the  dreaming  man  felt  the  fingers 
moving  about  his  throat.  They  felt  cold  and  clammy, 
and  the  night  air  chilled  him. 

Then  came  a  change,  one  of  those  fantastic  changes 
which  dreamland  loves,  and  which  drives  the  dreamer, 
even  in  his  sleeping  thought,  nearly  distracted.  The 
dark  vista  of  the  prairie  suddenly  lit.  A  great  light 
shone  over  all,  and  the  dreaming  man  could  see  noth- 
ing but  the  light — that,  and  the  wolf-man.  The  ghoul- 
ish creature  stood  its  ground.  The  fingers  were  still 
at  his  throat,  but  now  they  moved  uncertainly,  grop- 
ing. There  was  no  longer  the  deliberate  movement 
of  set  purpose.  It  was  as  though  the  light  had  blinded 
the  cruel  scavenger,  that  its  purpose  was  foiled 
through  its  power  of  vision  being  suddenly  destroyed. 
It  was  a  breathless  moment  in  the  dream. 

But  the  tension  quickly  relaxed.  The  hands  were 
drawn  abruptly  away.  The  wolf-man  stood  erect 
again,  and  the  dreamer  heard  it  addressing  the  light. 
The  words  were  gentle,  in  contrast  with  the  manner  in 
which  it  had  spoken  to  him,  and  the  softness  of  its 
tones  held  him  fascinated. 

*'  He's  better,  eh  ?  Coming  round,"  he  said.  And 
somehow  the  dreamer  thought  that  he  laughed,  and 
the  invisible  coyotes  laughed  with  him. 

A  brief  silence  followed,  which  was  ultimately  broken 
by  another  voice.  It  was  a  voice  from  out  of  the  light, 
and  its  tones  were  a  gasp  of  astonishment  and  alarm. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  father  ?  "  the  voice  asked 


314  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

There  wats  a  strange  familiarity  in  the  tones,  and  the 
dreamer  struggled  for  recollection ;  but  before  it  came 
to  him  the  voice  went  on  with  a  wild  exclamation  of 
horror.     *'  Father !     The  bandage  !  " 

The  dreamer  wondered  ;  and  something  drew  his  at- 
tention to  the  wolf-man.  He  saw  that  the  creature 
was  eyeing  the  light  with  ferocious  purpose  in  its  ex- 
pression. It  was  all  so  real  that  he  felt  a  wild  thrill  of 
excitement  as  he  watched  for  what  was  to  happen. 
But  the  voice  out  of  the  light  again  spoke,  and  he 
found  himself  listening. 

"  Go !  *'  it  said  in  a  tone  of  command,  and  thrilling 
with  horror  and  indignation.  "  Go !  or — no,  dare  to 
lay  a  hand  on  me,  and  I'll  dash  the  lamp  in  your  face ! 
Go  now !  or  I  will  summon  help.  It  is  at  hand,  below. 
And  armed  help." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  wolf-man  stared  at  the 
light  with  villainous  eyes,  but  the  contemplated 
attack  was  not  forthcoming.  The  creature  muttered 
something  which  the  dreamer  lost.  Then  it  moved 
away  ;  not  as  it  had  come,  but  groping  its  way  blindly. 
A  moment  later  the  light  went  out  too,  the  cries  of  the 
coyotes  were  hushed,  and  the  moon  shone  down  on 
the  scene  as  before.  And  the  dreamer,  still  feeling 
himself  imprisoned,  watched  the  great  yellow  globe 
until  it  disappeared  below  the  horizon.  Then,  as  the 
darkness  closed  over  him,  he  seemed  to  sleep,  for  the 
scene  died  out  and  recollection  faded  away. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   RENUNCIATION 

The  early  morning  sun  was  streaming  in  through 
the  window  of  the  sick  man's  room  when  Tresler  at 
last  awoke  to  consciousness.  And,  curiously  enough, 
more  than  half  an  hour  passed  before  Diane  became 
aware  of  the  change  in  her  patient. 

And  yet  she  was  wide  awake  too.  Sleep  had  never 
been  further  from  her  eyes,  and  her  mind  never  more 
alert.  But  for  the  first  time  since  Tresler  had  been 
brought  in  wounded,  his  condition  was  no  longer  first 
in  her  thoughts.  Something  occupied  her  at  the  mo- 
ment of  his  waking  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 

The  man  lay  like  a  log.  His  eyes  were  staring  up 
at  the  ceiling;  he  made  no  movement,  and  though 
perfect  consciousness  had  come  to  him  there  was  no 
interest  with  it,  no  inquiry.  He  accepted  his  position 
like  an  infant  waking  from  its  healthy  night-long  slum- 
ber. Truth  to  tell,  his  weakness  held  him  prisoner, 
sapping  all  natural  inclination  from  mind  and  body. 
All  his  awakening  brought  him  was  a  hazy,  indifferent 
recollection  of  a  bad  dream ;  that,  and  a  background 
of  the  events  at  Willow  Bluff. 

If  the  man  were  suffering  from  a  bad  dream,  the 
girl's  expression  suggested  the  terrible  reality  of  her 
thought-     There  was  something  worse  than  horror  in 


3i6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

her  eyes,  in  the  puckering  of  her  brows,  in  the  nervous 
compression  of  her  lips.  There  was  a  blending-  of 
terror  and  bewilderment  in  the  brow'n  depths  that  con- 
templated the  wall  before  her,  and  every  now  and  then 
her  pretty  figure  moved  wdth  a  palpable  shudder.  Her 
thoughts  were  reviewing  feverishly  scenes  similar  to 
those  in  her  patient's  dream,  only  with  her  they  were 
terrible  realities  which  she  had  witnessed  only  a  few 
hours  before  in  that  very  room.  At  that  moment  she 
would  have  given  her  life  to  have  been  able  to  call 
them  dreams.  Her  lover's  life  had  been  attempted  by 
the  inhuman  process  of  reopening  his  wound. 

Should  she  ever  forget  the  dreadful  scene  ?  Never  I 
Not  once,  but  time  and  again  her  brain  pictured  each 
detail  with  a  distinctness  that  was  in  the  nature  of 
physical  pain.  From  the  moment  she  awoke,  which 
had  been  unaccountable  to  her,  to  find  herself  still 
propped  against  the  foot-rail  of  her  bed,  to  the  finish  of 
the  dastardly  scene  in  the  sick-room  was  a  living  night- 
mare. She  remembered  the  start  with  which  she  had 
opened  her  eyes.  As  far  as  she  knew  she  had  heard 
nothing;  nothing  had  disturbed  her.  And  yet  she 
found  herself  sitting  bolt  upright,  awake,  listening,  in- 
tent. Then  her  rush  to  the  lamp.  Her  guilty  feelings. 
The  unconscious  stealth  of  her  tiptoeing  to  the  landing 
outside.  Her  horror  at  the  discovery  that  her  obstruc- 
tion to  the  staircase  had  been  removed,  and  the  chairs, 
as  though  to  mock  the  puerility  of  her  scheming,  set 
in  orderly  fashion,  side  by  side  against  the  wall  to 
make  way  for  the  midnight  intruder.  The  closed  door 
sf  the  sick-room,  which  yielded  to  her  touch  and  re- 


THE  RENUNCIATION  317 

vealed  the  apparition  of  her  father  bending  over  her 
lover,  and,  with  no  uncertainty  of  movement,  removing 
the  bandage  from  the  wounded  necl^.  The  terror  of  it 
all  remained.  So  long  as  she  lived  she  could  never 
forget  one  single  detail  of  it. 

Even  now%  though  hours  had  passed  since  these 
things  had  happened,  the  nervousness  with  which  she 
had  finally  approached  the  task  of  readjusting  the 
bandage  still  possessed  her.  And  even  the  thankful- 
ness with  which  she  discovered  that  the  intended  injury 
had  been  frustrated  was  inadequate  to  bring  her  more 
than  a  passing  satisfaction.  She  shuddered,  and  nerv- 
ously turned  to  her  patient 

Then  it  was  that  she  became  aware  of  his  return  to 
life. 

**  Jack  I     Oh,  thank  .God  ! "  she  murmured  softly. 

And  the  sound  of  the  well-loved  voice  roused  the 
patient's  interest  in  the  things  about  him. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  '*  he  asked,  in  a  weak  whisper,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  to  the  face  so  anxiously  regarding  him. 

But  Diane's  troubles  had  been  lifted  from  her  shoul- 
ders for  the  moment  and  the  nurse  was  uppermost  once 
more.  She  signed  to  him  to  keep  quiet  while  she  ad- 
ministered the  doses  Doc.  Osier  had  prepared  for  him. 
Then  she  answered  his  question. 

"  You  are  in  the  room  adjoining  mine,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Her  woman's  instinct  warned  her  that  no  more  reas- 
suring information  could  be  given  him. 

And  the  result  justified  it.  He  smiled  faintly,  and, 
in  a  few  moments,  his  eyes  closed  again  and  he  slept. 


3i8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Then  the  girl  set  about  her  work  in  earnest.  She 
hurried  down-stairs  and  communicated  the  good  news 
to  Joe.  She  went  in  search  of  Jake,  to  have  a  man 
despatched  for  the  doctor.  For  the  time  at  least  all 
her  troubles  were  forgotten  in  her  thankfulness  at  her 
lover's  return  to  life.  Somehow,  as  she  passed  out  of 
the  house,  the  very  sunlight  seemed  to  rejoice  with 
her ;  the  old  familiar  buildings  had  something  friendly 
in  their  bald,  unyielding  aspect.  Even  the  hideous 
corrals  looked  less  like  the  prisons  they  were,  and  the 
branding  forges  less  cruel.  But  greatest  wonder  of  all 
was  the  attitude  of  Jake  when  she  put  her  request 
before  him.  The  giant  smiled  upon  her  and  granted 
it  without  demur.  And,  in  her  gladness,  the  simple 
child  smiled  back  her  heartfelt  thanks.  But  her  smile 
was  short-lived,  and  her  thanks  were  premature. 

''  I'm  pretty  nigh  glad  that  feller's  mendin',"  Jake 
said.  '*Say,  he's  a  man,  that  feller."  He  turned  his 
eyes  away  and  avoided  her  smiling  gaze,  and  con- 
tinued in  a  tone  he  tried  to  make  regretful.  **  Guess  I 
was  gettin'  to  feel  mean  about  him.  We  haven't  hit  it 
exac'ly.  I  allow  it's  mostly  temper  between  us.  How- 
sum,  I  guess  it  can't  be  helped  now — now  he's  goin'.'' 

*'  Going  ?  "  the  girl  inquired.  But  she  knew  he  would 
be  going,  only  she  wondered  what  Jake  meant. 

"  Sure,"  the  foreman  said,  with  a  sudden  return  to 
his  usual  manner.  *'  Say,  your  father's  up  against  him 
good  and  hot.  I've  seen  Julian  Marbolt  mad — mad- 
der'n  hell ;  but  I  ain't  never  seen  him  jest  as  mad  as 
he  is  against  your  beau.  When  Tresler  gits  right  he's 
got  to  quit — quick.     I've  been  wonderin'  what's  fixed 


THE  RK?N^UNCIATION  31$ 

your  father  like  that.  Guess  you  ain't  been  crazy 
enough  to  tell  him  that  Tresler's  been  sparkin' 
you  ?  " 

The  girl's  smile  died  out,  and  her  pretty  eyes  as- 
sumed a  look  of  stony  contempt  as  she  answered  with 
spirit.  And  Jake  listened  to  her  reply  with  a  smile  on 
his  bold  face  that  in  no  wise  concealed  his  desire  to 
hurt  her. 

"Whatever  happens  Mr.  Tresler  doesn't  leave  our 
house  until  Doc.  Osier  gives  the  word.  Perhaps  it  will 
do  you  good  to  further  understand  that  the  doctor 
will  not  give  that  word  until  I  choose." 

*'  You're  a  silly  wench ! "  Jake  exclaimed  angrily. 
Then  he  became  scornful.  "  I  don't  care  that  for 
Tresler,  now."  Nevertheless  he  gave  a  vicious  snap 
with  his  fingers  as  he  flicked  them  in  the  air.  **  I  w^ish 
him  well  enough.  I  have  reason  to.  Let  him  stay  as 
long  as  you  can  keep  him.  Yes,  go  right  ahead  an' 
dose  him,  an'  physic  him ;  an'  when  he's  well  he's 
goin',  sure.  An'  when  he's  out  of  the  way  maybe  you'll 
see  the  advantage  o'  marryin'  me.  How's  that,  heh? 
There,  there,"  he  went  on  tauntingly,  as  he  saw  the 
flushing  face  before  him,  and  the  angry  eyes,  **  don't 
get  huffed,  though  I  don't  know  but  what  you're  a 
daisy-lookin'  wench  when  you're  hufled.  Get  right 
ahead,  milady,  an'  fix  the  boy  up.  Guess  it's  all  you'll 
ever  do  for  him." 

Diane  had  fled  before  the  last  words  came.  She  had 
to,  or  she  would  have  struck  the  man.  She  knew,  only 
too  well,  how  right  he  was  about  Tresler ;  but  this 
cruelty  was  unbearable,  and  she  went  back  to  the  sick- 


320  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

room  utterly  bereft  of  the  last  shadow  of  the  happiness 
she  had  left  it  with. 

The  doctor  came,  and  brought  with  him  a  measure 
of  comfort.  He  told  her  there  was  nothing  to  be  con- 
sidered now  but  the  patient's  weakness,  and  the  cleans- 
ing of  the  w^ound.  In  his  abrupt  manner  he  suggested 
a  diet,  and  ordered  certain  physic,  and  finally  departed, 
telling  her  that  as  her  room  adjoined  her  patient's  there 
would  be  no  further  need  of  sitting  up  at  night. 

And  so  three  weeks  passed  ;  three  weeks  of  rapid 
convalescence  for  Tresler,  if  they  were  spent  very 
m.uch  otherwise  by  many  of  the  settlers  in  the  district. 
Truth  to  tell,  it  was  the  stormiest  time  that  the  country 
had  ever  known.  The  check  the  night-riders  had  re- 
ceived at  Willow  Blufif  had  apparently  sent  them  crazy 
for  revenge,  which  they  proceeded  to  take  in  a  wholly 
characteristic  manner.  Hitherto  their  depredations 
had  been  comparatively  far  apart,  considerable  inter- 
vals elapsing  between  them,  but  now  four  raids  oc- 
curred one  after  the  other.  The  police  were  utterly 
defied  ;  cattle  w^ere  driven  off,  and  their  defenders  shot 
down  without  mercy.  These  monsters  worked  their 
will  whithersoever  they  chose.  The  sheriff  brought  re- 
inforcements up,  but  with  no  other  effect  than  to  rouse 
the  discontent  of  the  ranchers  at  their  utter  failure.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  acts  of  these  rustlers  was  a 
direct  challenge  to  all  authority.  A  reign  of  terror  set 
in,  and  settlers,  who  had  been  in  the  country  for  years, 
declared  their  intention  of  getting  out,  and  seeking  a 
place  where,  if  they  had  to  pay  more  for  their  land,  they 
would  at  least  find  protection  for  life  and  property. 


THE  RENUNCIAilON  321 

Such  was  the  position  when  Tresler  found  himself 
allowed  to  move  about  his  room,  and  sit  in  a  comfort- 
able armchair  in  the  delightful  sunlight  at  his  open 
window.  Nor  was  he  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  doings 
of  the  raiders.  Diane  and  he  discussed  them  ardently. 
But  she  was  careful  to  keep  him  in  ignorance  of 
everything  concerning  herself  and  her  father.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  latter's  objection  to  his  presence 
in  the  house,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  the  blind  man's 
threats,  or  that  fearful  attack  he  had  perpetrated  in  one 
of  his  fits  of  mad  passion. 

These  days,  so  delightful  to  them  both,  so  brimful  of 
happiness  for  him,  so  fraught  with  such  a  blending  of 
pain  and  sweetness  for  her,  had  stolen  along  almost 
uncounted,  unheeded.  But  like  all  such  overshadowed 
delights,  their  end  came  swiftly,  ruthlessly. 

The  signal  was  given  at  the  midday  meal.  The 
rancher,  who  had  never  mentioned  Tresler's  name  since 
that  memorable  night,  rose  from  the  table  to  retire  to 
his  room.     At  the  door  he  paused  and  turned. 

*'  That  man,  Tresler,"  he  said,  in  his  smooth,  even 
tones.  **  He's  well  enough  to  go  to  the  bunkhouse. 
See  to  it." 

And  he  left  the  girl  crushed  and  helpless.  It  had 
come  at  last.  She  knew  that  she  could  keep  her  lover 
no  longer  at  her  side.  Even  Doc.  Osier  could  not  help 
her,  and,  besides,  if  she  refused  to  obey,  her  father 
would  not  have  the  slightest  compunction  in  attending 
to  the  matter  in  his  own  way. 

So  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  she  took  herself  up- 
stairs for  the  afternoon.     This  tHe-a-tite  had  become 


322  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

their  custom  every  day  ;  she  with  her  sewing,  and  the 
sick  man  luxuriating  in  a  pipe.  Tresler  was  still  band- 
aged, but  it  was  only  lightly,  for  the  wound  was  almost 
healed. 

The  girl  took  up  her  position  as  usual,  and  Treslei 
moved  his  chair  over  beside  the  little  table  she  laid 
her  work  on,  and  sat  facing  her.  He  loved  to  gaze 
upon  the  sad  little  face.  He  loved  to  say  things  to  her 
that  would  rouse  it  from  its  serious  caste,  and  show 
him  the  shadows  dispelled,  and  the  pretty  smile 
wreathing  itself  in  their  stead.  And  he  had  found  it 
so  easy  too.  The  simplicity,  the  honesty,  the  single- 
mindedness  of  this  prairie  flower  made  her  more  than 
susceptible  to  girlish  happiness,  even  amidst  her 
troublous  surroundings.  But  he  knew  that  these  mo- 
ments w^ere  all  too  passing,  that  to  make  them  endur- 
ing he  must  somehow  contrive  to  get  her  away  from 
that  world  of  brutality  to  a  place  where  she  could  bask, 
surrounded  by  love  and  the  sunshine  of  a  happy  home. 
And  during  the  days  of  his  convalescence  he  planned 
and  plotted  for  the  consummation  of  his  hopes. 

But  he  found  her  more  difficult  to-day.  The  eyes 
were  a  shade  more  sad,  and  the  smile  would  not  come 
to  banish  the  shadows.  The  sweet  mouth,  too,  always 
drooping  slightly  at  the  corners,  seemed  to  droop  more 
than  usual  to-day.  He  tried,  in  vain,  every  topic  that 
he  thought  would  interest  her,  but  at  last  himself  began 
to  experience  the  depression  that  seemed  to  weigh  so 
desperately  on  her.  And  strangely  enough  this  dispir- 
iting influence  conjured  up  in  his  mind  a  morbid  mem- 
ory,  that  until  then  had  utterly  escaped  him.     It  was 


THE  RENUNCIATION  325 

the  dream  he  had  the  night  before  his  awakening. 
And  almost  unconsciously  he  spoke  of  it. 

''You  remember  the  day  I  woke  to  find  myself  here^ 
Danny?"  he  said.  "It  just  occurs  to  me  now  that  I 
wasn't  unconscious  all  the  time  before.  I  distinctly  re- 
member dreaming.     Perhaps  I  was  only  asleep." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

**  You  were  more  than  asleep,"  she  said  portentously. 

"  Anyhow,  I  distincdy  remember  a  dream  I  had.  I 
should  say  it  was  '  nightmare.'  It  was  about  your 
father.  He'd  got  me  by  the  throat,  and — what's  the 
matter  ?  " 

Diane  started,  and,  to  Tresler's  alarm,  looked  like 
fainting  ;  but  she  recovered  at  once. 

*'  Nothing,"  she  said,  '*  only — only  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  that  time,  and  then — then — father  strangling 
you  !  Don't  think  of  your  dream.  Let's  talk  of  some- 
thing else." 

Tresler's  alarm  abated  at  once;  he  laughed  softly 
and  leant  forward  and  kissed  her. 

''  Our  future — our  little  home.  Eh,  dearest  ?  "  he 
suggested  tenderly. 

She  returned  his  embrace  and  made  a  pitiful  attempt 
to  smile  back  into  the  eyes  which  looked  so  eagerly 
into  hers.  And  now,  for  the  first  time,  her  lover  began 
to  understand  that  there  really  was  something  amiss 
with  her.  It  was  that  look,  so  wistful,  so  appealing, 
that  roused  his  apprehension.  He  pressed  her  to  tell 
him  her  trouble,  until,  for  sheer  misery,  she  could  keep 
it  from  him  no  longer. 

'  It  s  nothing,"  she  faltered,  with  trembling  lips. 


324  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Watching  her  face  with  a  lover's  jealousy  he  kept 
silence,  for  he  knew  that  her  first  words  v/ere  only  her 
woman's  preliminary  to  something  she  considered  seri- 
ous. 

"Jack,"  she  said  presently,  settling  all  her  attention 
upon  her  work,  ''you've  never  asked  me  anything 
about  myself.  Isn't  that  unusual  ?  Perhaps  you  are 
not  interested,  or  perhaps  " — her  head  bent  lower  over 
her  work — "  you,  with  your  generous  heart,  are  ready 
to  take  me  on  trust.  However,"  she  went  on,  before 
he  could  interrupt  her,  **  I  intend  to  tell  you  what  yoi 
refuse  to  ask.  No,"  as  he  leant  forward  and  kissed  her 
again,  **  now  sit  up  and  light  your  pipe.  There  are  to 
be  no  interruptions  like  that." 

She  smiled  wistfully  and  gendy  pushed  him  back 
into  his  chair. 

"  Now,"  she  began,  as  he  settled  himself  to  listen, 
*'  I  must  go  back  such  a  long,  long  way.  Before  I  was 
born.  Father  was  a  sea  captain  then.  First  the  cap- 
tain of  a  whaler,  afterward  he  bought  a  ship  of  his 
own  and  traded  round  the  E^st  Indies.  He  often  used 
*^o  talk  of  those  days,  not  because  he  had  any  desire  to 
tell  me  of  them,  but  it  seemed  to  relieve  him  when  he 
w^as  in  a  bad  temper.  L  don't  know  what  his  trade 
was,  but  I  think  it  was  of  an  exciting  nature.  He 
often  spoke  of  the  risks,  which,  he  said,  were  amply 
compensated  by  the  money  he  made."  Tresler  smiled 
gravely.  "  And  father  must  have  made  a  lot  of  money 
at  that  time,  for  he  married  mother,  bought  himself  a 
fine  house  and  lands  just  outside  Kingston,  in  Jamaica, 
and,  I  believe,  he  kept  a  w^hole  army  of  black  servants 


THE  RENUNCIATION  <2S 

Yes,  and  he  has  told  me,  not  once,  but  a  hundred 
times,  that  he  dates  all  his  misfortunes  from  the  day  he 
married  my  mother,  which  always  seems  unfair  to  her 
anyway.  Somehow  I  can  never  think  of  father  as  ever 
having  been  a  kind  man,  and  I've  no  doubt  that  poor 
mother  had  anything  but  an  easy  time  of  it  with  him. 
However,  it  is  not  for  me  to  criticize."  She  paused, 
but  went  on  almost  immediately.  "  Let  me  see,  it  was 
directly  after  the  honeymoon  that  he  went  away  on  his 
last  trading  trip.  He  was  to  call  at  Java.  Jake  w^aii 
his  mate,  you  know,  and  they  were  expecting  to  return 
in  six  months'  time  with  a  rich  harvest  of  what  he 
calls  *  Black  Ivory.'  I  think  it  was  some  native  manu- 
facture, because  he  had  to  call  at  the  native  villages. 
He  told  me  so.  But  the  trip  was  abandoned  aftei 
three  weeks  at  sea.  Father  was  stricken  down  with 
yellow  fever.  And  from  that  day  to  this  he  has  neve/ 
seen  the  light  of  day." 

The  girl  pushed  her  work  aside  and  went  on 
drearily. 

"  When  he  recovered  from  the  fever  he  was  brought 
home,  as  he  said  himself,  *a  blind  hulk.'  Mother 
nursed  him  back  to  health  and  strength,  but  she  could 
not  restore  his  sight.  I  am  telling  you  these  thingis 
just  as  I  have  gleaned  them  from  him  at  such  moments 
as  he  chose  to  be  communicative.  I  imagine,  too, 
from  the  little  things  he  sometimes  let  fall  when  he  was 
angry,  that  all  this  time  he  lived  in  a  state  of  impotent 
fury  against  all  the  world,  against  God,  but  particularly 
against  the  one  person  to  whom  he  should  have  been 
most  grateful — mother      All  his  friends  deserted  him 


326  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

in  consequence  of  his  bitter  temper — all,  that  is,  except 
Jake.  At  last  in  desperation,  he  conceived  the  idea  of 
going  to  Europe.  At  first  mother  was  going  with  him, 
but  though  he  was  well  able  to  aflord  the  additional 
expense  he  begrudged  it,  and,  changing  his  mind, 
decided  to  go  alone.  He  sold  his  ship,  setded  his  af- 
fairs, and  went  off,  and  for  three  years  he  traveled 
round  Europe,  visiting  every  eye-doctor  of  note  in  all 
the  big  capitals.  But  it  was  all  no  good,  and  he  re- 
turned even  more  soured  than  he  went  away.  It  was 
during  his  absence  that  I  was  born." 

Again  Diane  paused.  This  time  it  was  some  mo- 
ments before  she  proceeded. 

*'  To  add  to  his  troubles,"  she  at  last  resumed,  in  a 
low  tone,  *'  mother  was  seriously  ill  when  he  got  back, 
and,  the  day  of  his  return,  died  in  his  presence.  After 
that,  whatever  his  disposition  was  before,  it  seems  to 
have  become  a  thousand  times  worse.  And  when  he 
is  angry  now  he  takes  a  painful  delight  in  discussing 
the  hatred  and  abhorrence  all  the  people  of  Kingston 
held  him  in,  and  the  hatred  and  abhorrence  he  returns 
to  mankind  in  general.  By  his  own  accounts  he  must 
have  been  terrible.  However,  this  has  nothing  to  do 
with  our  history.  Personally,  I  remember  nothing  but 
this  ranch,  but  I  understand  that  he  tried  to  resume  his 
old  trade  in  the  Indies.  For  some  reason  this  failed 
him  ;  trouble  occurred,  and  he  gave  it  up  for  good,  and 
came  out  to  this  country  and  settled  here.  Again,  to 
quote  his  words,  *  away  from  men  and  things  that 
drove  him  distracted.'  That,"  she  finished  up,  '*  is  a 
brief  sketch  of  our  history." 


THE  RENUNCIATION  327 

"  And  just  such  a  story  as  I  should  imagine  your 
father  had  behind  him.  A  most  unhappy  one,"  Tresler 
observed  quietly.  But  he  was  marveling  at  the  inno- 
cence of  this  child  who  failed  to  realize  the  meaning  of 
*'  black  ivory." 

For  a  little  while  there  was  a  silence  between  them, 
and  both  sat  staring  out  of  window.  At  last  Diane 
turned,  and  when  she  spoke  again  there  was  an  ominous 
quivering  of  the  lips. 

"  Jack,"  she  said,  "  I  have  not  told  you  this  without 
a  purpose." 

"No,  I  gathered  that,  dear,"  he  returned.  "And 
this  profound  purpose  ?  "  he  questioned,  smiling. 

Her  answer  was  a  long  time  in  coming.  What  she 
had  to  do  was  so  hard. 

"Father  doesn't  like  you,"  she  said  at  last  in  des- 
peration. 

Tresler  put  his  pipe  aside. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  he  likes  anybody  very  much, 
unless  it's  Jake.  And  I  wouldn't  bet  a  pile  on  the  af- 
fection between  them." 

"  He  likes  Jake  better  than  anybody  else.  At  least  he 
trusts  him." 

"  Which  is  a  fair  equivalent  in  his  case.  But  what 
makes  you  think  he  dislikes  me  more  than  most  peo- 
ple?" 

"You  remember  that  night  in  the  kitchen,  when  you 
asked  me  to " 

"  Marry  ?     Yes.     Could  I  ever  forget  it  ?  " 

Tresler  had  taken  possession  of  one  of  the  small 
hands  lying  in  the  girl's  lap,  but  she  gently  withdrew  it 


328  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

**  I  was  weeping,  and — and  you  saw  the  bruises  on 
my  arms.  Father  disapproved  of  my  talking  to 
you " 

**Ah!  I  understand."  And  he  added,  under  his 
breath,  '*  The  brute  I " 

"  He  says  I  must  give  you  up." 

Tresler  was  looking  straight  before  him  at  the  win- 
dow. Now  he  turned  slowly  and  faced  her.  His  ex- 
pression conveyed  nothing. 

"  And  you  ?  " 

**  Oh,  it  is  so  hard  1 "  Diane  burst  out,  in  distress. 
*'  And  you  make  it  harder.  Yes,"  she  went  on  miser- 
ably, "I  have  to  give  you  up.  I  must  not  marry  you 
— dare  not " 

''Dare  not?" 

The  question  came  without  the  movement  of  a  mus- 
cle. 

*'  Yes,  he  says  so.  Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  He  is  blind, 
And  I — I  am  his  only — oh,  what  am  I  saying  ?  " 

Tresler  shook  his  head. 

*'  I'm  afraid  you  are  saying  a  lot  of — nonsense,  little 
woman.  And  what  is  more,  it  is  a  lot  of  nonsense  I 
am  not  going  to  take  seriously.  Do  I  understand  that 
you  are  going  to  throw  me  over  simply  because  he  tells 
you  to  ?" 

"  Not  only  because  of  that." 

*' Who  told  him  about  us?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

**  Never  mind.  Perhaps  I  can  guess.  You  have 
grown  tired  of  me  already  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  haven't,  Jack." 


THE  RENUNCIATION  329 

Diane  put  out  a  hand  and  gently  laid  it  on  one  of 
his.  But  his  remained  unresponsive.  This  sudden 
awakening  from  his  dream  of  love  had  more  than 
startled  him.  It  had  left  him  feeling  resentful  against 
somebody  or  something ;  at  present  he  was  not  sure 
who  or  what  But  he  meant  to  have  it  out,  cost  what 
it  might. 

**  That's  all  right,  then,"  he  said.  "  Now,  tell  me  this 
other  reason."  Suddenly  he  leant  forward  and  looked 
down  into  her  eyes.  His  hands,  now  thin  and  delicate, 
held  hers  tightly  in  a  passionate  clasp,  and  his  face  was 
alight  with  the  truth  and  sincerity  of  his  love.  **  Re- 
member," he  said,  **  this  is  no  child's  play,  Damny,  I 
am  not  the  man  to  give  you  up  easily.  I  am  weak,  I 
know  ;  but  I've  still  got  a  fight  in  me,  and  so  long  as  I 
am  assured  of  your  love,  I  swear  nothing  shall  part  us. 
I  love  you  as  I  have  never  loved  anybody  in  my  life — 
and  I  just  want  only  you.  Now  tell  me  this  other  rea- 
son, dear." 

But  Diane  still  hesitated.  Her  evident  distress 
wrung  her  lover's  heart.  He  realized  now  that  there 
was  something  very  serious  behind  it  all.  He  had 
never  beheld  anything  so  pitiful  as  the  look  with  which 
she  turned  toward  him,  and  further  tried  to  put  him 
ofT. 

**  Father  says  you  are  to  leave  this  house  to-day. 
Afterward  you  will  be  turned  off  the  ranch.  It  is  only 
through  the  sheriflf  backing  the  doctor's  orders  that  you 
were  not  turned  out  of  here  before." 

Tresler  made  no  response  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
burst  out  into  a  hard,  mirthless  laugh. 


330  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

**  So  1 "  he  exclaimed,  his  laugh  dying  abruptly 
**  Listen  to  me.  Your  father  can  turn  me  out  of  this 
house — though  I'll  save  him  that  trouble — but  he  can't 
turn  me  off  this  ranch.  My  residence  here  is  bought 
and  paid  for  for  three  years.  The  agreement  is  signed 
and  sealed.  No,  no,  let  him  try  another  blufT."  Then 
his  m.anner  changed  to  one  of  gentle  persuasion.  "  But 
you  have  not  come  to  the  real  reason,  litde  one.  Out 
with  it.  It  is  a  bitter  plum,  I  can  tell.  Something 
which  makes  you  dread  not  only  its  consequences,  but 
— something  else.  Tell  it  me,  Danny.  Whatever  it  is 
you  may  be  sure  of  me.  My  love  for  you  is  unalter- 
able.    Believe  me,  nothing  shall  come  between  us." 

His  voice  was  infinitely  tender,  and  its  effect  on 
Diane  v/as  to  set  two  great  tears  rolling  down  her 
cheeks  as  she  listened.  He  had  driven  her  to  a  corner, 
and  there  w^as  no  escape.  But  even  so  she  made  one 
more  effort  to  avoid  her  shameful  disclosure. 

"Will — will  you  not  take  me  at  my  word.  Jack?'* 
she  asked  imploringly. 

"  Not  in  this,  dearest,"  he  replied. 

He  spoke  inexorably,  but  with  such  a  world  of  love 
in  his  voice  that  the  long-pent  tears  came  with  a  rush. 
He  let  her  weep.  He  felt  it  would  do  her  good.  And, 
after  a  while,  when  her  sobs  had  ceased,  he  urged  her 
again. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  whispered. 

i(  T   M 

The  man  waited  with  wonderful  patience. 
"  Oh,  don't — don't  make  me  !  "  she  cried. 
"  Yes,  I  must." 


THE  RENUNCIATION  331 

And  at  last  her  answer  came  in  the  faintest  of 
whispers. 

*'  I — I — father  is — is  only  my  legal  father.  He  was 
away  three  years.  I  was  born  three  days  before  he  re- 
turned." 

*'  Well,  well."  Tresler  sat  quite  still  for  a  moment 
while  the  simple  girl  sat  cowering  under  the  weight  of 
her  mother's  shame.  Then  h?'  suddenly  reached  out 
and  caught  her  in  his  arms.  *' Why,  Danny,"  he  cried, 
pressing  her  to  him,  ''  I  never  felt  so  happy  over  any- 
thing in  my  life  as  the  fact  that  Julian  Marbolt  is  not 
your  father." 

**  But  the  shame  of  it !  "  cried  the  girl,  imagining  that 
her  lover  had  not  fully  understood. 

'*  Shame  ?  Shame  ? "  he  cried,  holding  her  still 
tighter  in  his  arms.  *'  Never  let  me  hear  that  word  on 
your  lips  again.  You  are  the  truest,  sweetest,  simplest 
child  in  the  world.  You  are  mine,  Danny.  My  very 
own.  And  I  tell  you  right  here  that  I've  won  you  and 
will  hold  you  to  my  last  dying  day." 

Now  she  was  kneeling  beside  him  with  her  face  pil- 
lowed on  his  breast,  sobbing  in  the  joy  of  her  relief  and 
happiness.  And  Tresler  kissed  her  softly,  pressing  his 
cheek  many  times  against  the  silky  curls  that  wreathed 
about  her  head.  Then,  after  a  while,  he  sat  looking 
out  of  the  window  with  a  hard,  unyielding  stare. 
Weak  as  he  was,  he  was  ready  to  do  battle  with  all  his 
might  for  this  child  nestling  so  trustfully  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HOT  UPON   THE  TRAIL 

The  most  welcome  thing  that  had  happened  to  the 
men  on  the  ranch  for  many  a  long  day  was  Tresler's 
return  to  the  bunkhouse.  He  was  hailed  with  acclama- 
tion. Though  he  had  found  it  hard  to  part  with  Diane 
under  the  doubtful  circumstances,  there  was  some  com- 
pensation, certainly  gratification,  in  the  whole-hearted 
welcome  of  his  rough  comrades.  It  was  not  the  effusion 
they  displayed,  but  the  deliberateness  of  their  reception 
of  him,  that  indexed  their  true  feelings.  Teddy  Jinks 
refused  to  serve  out  the  supper  hash  until  Tresler  had 
all  he  required.  Lew  Cawley  washed  out  a  plate  for 
him,  as  a  special  favor  ;  and  Raw  Harris,  pessimist  as 
he  was,  and  who  had  a  way  of  displaying  the  fact  in  all 
the  little  every-day  matters  of  life,  cleaned  and  sharpened 
a  knife  for  him  by  prodding  it  up  to  the  hilt  in  the  hard- 
beaten  earth,  and  cleaned  the  prongs  of  a  fork  with 
the  edge  of  his  buckskin  shirt.  But  he  could  not  thus 
outrage  his  principles  without  excusing  himself,  which 
he  did,  to  the  effect  that  he  guessed  *'  invalid  fellers  need 
onusual  feedin'."  Jacob  Smith,  whose  habit  it  was  to 
take  his  evening  meals  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  upright 
log  which  served  as  part  of  the  door  casing,  and  which 
contact  with  his  broad,  buckskin-covered  shoulders  had 
polished    till    it    shone   resplendently,    renounced   his 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  333 

coveted  position  in  the  invalid's  favor.  Tresler  was  a 
guest  of  honor,  for  whom,  on  this  one  occasion  at 
least,  nothing  was  too  good.  And  in  this  position 
Arizona  supported  him,  cursing  the  flies  that  fell  into 
his  friend's  pannikin  of  tea,  and  hooking  them  out 
with  the  point  of  his  hash-besmeared  knife  as  he  sat  on 
his  log  beside  him.  Joe,  too,  had  come  down  specially 
to  share  the  meal,  but  he,  being  a  member  of  the  house- 
hold, was  very  small  fry  at  the  bunkhouse. 

And  Tresler  delighted  in  the  kindness  thus  showered 
on  him.  The  freedom  from  the  sick-room  did  him 
good  ;  the  air  was  good  to  breathe,  the  plain,  whole- 
some food  was  good  ;  but  most  of  all  those  bronzed, 
tough  faces  around  him  seemed  to  put  new  life  and 
vigor  into  his  enfeebled  frame.  He  realized  that  it  was 
high  time  that  he  was  at  work  again. 

And  there  was  lots  for  him  to  hear.  Every  man 
among  them  had  something  to  add  to  the  general  hash 
of  events,  and  in  their  usual  way  proceeded  to  ladle  it 
out  without  regard  for  audience,  contradicting,  inter- 
rupting, cursing,  until  the  unfortunate  man  who  was  the 
butt  of  their  remarks  found  himself  almost  overpowered 
by  the  babel. 

At  length  Arizona  drew  them  up  with  one  of  his 
sudden  "yanks." 

'*  Say,"  he  cried,  his  eyes  glaring  fiercely  and  em- 
bracing the  whole  party  with  a  great,  comprehensive 
roll,  "  you  fellers  is  like  a  crowd  o'  coyotes  around  a 
bone.  I  'lows  Tresler  ain't  an  a' mighty  deal  better'n  a 
bone  about  now,  but  his  lugs  ain't  deef.  Y're  jest  a 
gorl-darned  lot  o'  oneddicated  hoboes." 


334  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Which  attack  had  the  effect  of  reducing  the  pande 
monium,  but  in  no  way  suppressing  the  ardent  spirits  of 
the  party.  It  acted  as  a  challenge,  which  Jacob  Smith 
promptly  took  up. 

"  Say,  boys,"  he  cried,  ''  we're  goin'  to  git  eddication 
from  Arizona !  " 

His  remark  was  followed  by  a  derisive  roar  of 
laughter  at  Arizona's  expense.  But  the  moment  it  had 
subsided  the  derided  one  shot  out  his  retort. 

"  Guess  ther's  things  and  critturs  down  our  country 
we  don't  never  figger  to  eddicate — them's  hogs." 

*'  Fer  the  reason  which  they  knows  more'n  you,"  re- 
turned Jacob,  in  no  way  worried  by  the  personality. 

The  boys  considered  the  point  achieved  by  Jacob,  and 
another  laugh  at  Arizona's  expense  went  up.  He  had 
stumped  the  cowpuncher,  who  now  entered  the  fight 
with  wonderfully  good-natured  zest. 

*^  Say,"  he  observed,  *'  I  ain't  had  a  heap  to  do  wi' 
your  folks,  Jacob,  but  I'm  guessin'  ef  you're  talkin' 
Gospel,  things  don't  run  in  your  fam'ly." 

"  Call  him  a  hog  right  out,  Arizona,"  put  in  Raw, 
lazily. 

**  I  ain't  callin'  Jacob  no  hog ;  et  'ud  be  a  nasty 
trick — on  the  hog,"  observed  the  ready-tongued 
man. 

'*  Hallo,  Jacob ! "  cried  Lew,  as  the  laugh  turned  on 
the  other  man  this  time. 

But  Arizona  resented  the  interference,  and  rounded 
on  him  promptly. 

"  Say,  you  passon  feller,  I  ain't  heerd  tell  as  it's  the 
ways  o'  your  country  to  butt  in  an'  boost  folk  on  to  a 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  335 

scrap.  It's  gener'ly  sed  you're  mostly  ready  to  do  the 
scrappin'." 

"  Which  means  ?  "  Lew  grinned  in  his  large  way. 

"  Wal,  it  mostly  means — let's  hear  from  you  fust 
hand." 

''  It's  not  much  use  hearing  from  me  on  the  subject 
of  hogs.  They  aren't  great  on  'em  in  my  country, 
Besides,  you  seem  quite  at  home  with  'em." 

Arizona  sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  walking  over  to  the 
hulking  form  of  the  parson's  son,  held  his  hand  out. 

*'  Shake,"  he  said,  with  a  grin  that  drew  his  parch- 
ment-like skin  into  fierce  wrinkles  ;  **  we  live  in  the  same 
shack." 

Lew  laughed  with  the  rest,  and  when  it  died  down 
observed  — 

**  Look  here,  Arizona,  when  you  get  talking  *  hog  * 
you  stand  alone.  The  whole  Northwest  bows  to  you 
on  that  subject.  Now  go  and  sit  dov/n  like  a  peace- 
able citizen,  and  remember  that  a  man  who  is  such  a 
master  in  the  craft  of  hog-raising,  who  has  lived  with 
'em,  bred  'em,  fed  on  'em,  and  whose  mental  vision  is 
bounded  by  'em,  has  no  right  to  down  inofTensive,  un- 
tutored souls  like  ourselves.     It  isn't  generous." 

Arizona  stood.  He  looked  at  the  man  ;  then  he 
glanced  at  each  face  around  him  and  noted  the  smiles. 
One  hand  went  up  to  his  long,  black  hair  and  he 
scratched  his  head,  while  his  wild  eyes  settled  them- 
selves on  Tresler's  broadly  grinning  features.  Sud- 
denly he  walked  back  to  his  seat,  took  up  his  dish  of 
hash  and  continued  his  supper,  making  a  final  remark 
as  he  ate. 


336  THE  NIGHr-RIDERS 

"  Langwidge  ?     Gee  I     I  pass." 

And  during  the  rest  of  the  meal  "  hog  "  found  no 
place.  They  discussed  the  topic  of  the  day  threadbare. 
The  night-riders  filled  their  thoughts  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  else,  and  Tresler  learned  the  details  of  their  re- 
cent exploits,  and  the  opinion  of  each  man  on  the  out- 
rages. Even  Teddy  Jinks,  youthful  and  only  "slushy  " 
as  he  was,  was  listened  to,  so  absorbed  were  these  men 
in  their  cattle  world. 

**  It's  my  belief,"  that  reedy  youth  said,  with  pro- 
found finality,  *'  they're  working  fer  a  bust  up.  I'd 
gamble  one  o'  Arizona's  hogs  to  a  junk  o'  sow-belly 
ther'  ain't  no  more  of  them  rustlers  around  come  the 
fall.  Things  is  hot,  an'  they're  goin'  to  hit  the  trail, 
takin*  all  they  ken  get  right  now." 

It  was  good  to  be  listening  to  the  rough  talk  of  these 
fellows  again.  So  good  that  Tresler  prolonged  this, 
his  first  meal  with  them  after  such  a  long  absence,  to 
the  last  possible  minute.  Then  he  reluctantly  filled  his 
pipe,  put  away  his  plate  and  pannikin,  and  strolled  over 
to  the  bam  in  company  with  Arizona.  He  went  to  in- 
spect his  mare ;  he  was  fond  and  justly  proud  of  her. 
With  all  her  vagaries  of  temper  she  was  a  wonderful 
beast.  Arizona  had  told  him  how  she  had  brought 
both  of  them  into  the  ranch  from  Willow  Bluff  on  that 
memorable  night. 

''Guess  it's  a  real  pity  that  sheriff  feller  hadn't  got 
her  when  he  hit  Red  Mask's  trail,"  observed  Ari- 
zona, while  he  watched  Tresler  gently  pass  his  hands 
over  each  leg  w  turn.  *'  Clean,  eh  ?  "  he  asked  pres- 
ently. 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  337 

**  Yes.  The  limbs  of  a  race-horse.  Has  she  been 
ridden  while  Fve  been  sick  ?  " 

"  Nope  ;  she's  jest  stood  guzzlin'  oats." 

"  I  shall  have  a  time  when  I  get  into  the  saddle 
again." 

They  moved  out  and  stood  at  the  door  in  full  view 
of  the  house.  The  evening  was  drawing  in.  The  sun 
was  on  the  horizon,  and  the  purple  night  shades  were 
rising  out  over  the  eastern  sky. 

*•  Arizona,"  Tresler  said  a  little  later,  ''  Fve  got  an 
unpleasant  task  before  me.  I've  just  seen  Marbolt 
pass  the  window  of  his  den.  I  want  a  few  words  with 
him.     I  think  Til  go  now." 

"  *Bout  the  leddy  ?  "  inquired  the  cowpuncher. 

"  You've  struck  it." 

**  Wal,  git  right  along.  I'd  sooner  it  wus  you  than 
me,  I  guess.  Howsum,  I'll  set  right  hyar.  Mebbe  I'll 
be  handy  ef  you're  wantin'  me." 

Tresler  laughed.  "  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  he  said.  *'  I'm 
not  dealing  with  Jake." 

**  Nope,"  replied  the  other,  settling  himself  on  a  sad- 
dle-tree. Then,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "  which  is 
regret'ble." 

Tresler  walked  away  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 
He  was  weak,  and  did  the  journey  slowly.  Nor  did  he 
feel  comfortable.  However,  he  was  doing  what  he 
knew  to  be  right,  and,  as  he  ruefully  reminded  himself, 
it  was  seldom  pleasant  to  do  one's  duty.  His  object 
was  simply  a  matter  of  form,  but  one  which  omitted 
would  give  Marbolt  reason  for  saying  things.  Besides, 
in  justice  to  Danny  and  himself  he  must  ask  her  fa- 


338  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

ther's  consent  to  their  engagement.  And  as  he  thought 
of  the  uselessness  of  it  he  laughed  bitterly  to  himself. 
Did  not  the  rancher  know  ?  And  had  he  not  fully  ex- 
plained his  views  on  the  matter  ? 

Arizona  watched  Tresler  wabbling  unsteadily  toward 
the  house  and  applied  many  mental  epithets  of  an  un- 
complimentary nature  on  his  *'  foolheadedness."  Then 
he  was  joined  by  Joe,  who  had  also  observed  Tresler's 
visit 

The  little  man  waved  a  hand  in  the  direction  of  the 
retreating  figure. 

**  Wher's  he  goin'  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Guess  it's  'bout  the  leddy,"  replied  Arizona, 
shortly. 

'*  An'  he  wus  boosted  out  'cause  of  her,"  the  other 
said  significantly.  "  Kind  o'  minds  you  of  one  o'  them 
terriers." 

"  Yup.     Or  a  cow  wi'  a  ca'f." 

**  On'y  he  don't  make  no  fuss.     Guess  it's  a  terrier." 

And  Joe  accompanied  his  fined  decision  with  an  em- 
phatic nod. 

Meanwhile  the  object  of  their  remarks  had  made  his 
way  to  the  house  and  stood  before  the  blind  arbiter  of 
his  fate  in  the  latter' s  little  office.  The  rancher  was 
sitting  at  his  table  with  his  face  directed  toward  the 
window,  and  his  red  eyes  staring  at  the  glowing  sun- 
set. And  so  he  remained,  in  spite  of  Tresler's  blunt 
announcement  of  himself. 

*'  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  see  you,  Mr.  Marbolt,"  he 
said. 

And  he  stood  waiting  for  his  answer.     It  came,  aftei 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  339 

some  moments,  in  a  tone  that  offered  no  encourage- 
ment, but  was  more  civil  than  he  expected. 

"  Since  you  say  so,  I  suppose  it  is." 

Quite  indifferent  and  certainly  undaunted,  Tresler 
proceeded  — 

''  You  have  already  been  informed  how  matters  stand 
between  your  daughter  and  myself." 

''  Yes."' 

"  I  am  here,  then,  to  formally  ask  your  consent  to 
Oi  K  engagement." 

The  red  eyes  moved  from  their  contemplation  oi 
the  sunset,  and  their  dead,  leech-like  stare  fixed 
itself  upon  the  undisturbed  face  of  the  would-be  son-in- 
law. 

"  Tresler,"  the  man  said,  in  a  manner  that  left  little 
to  the  imagination,  "  I  have  only  one  answer  for  you. 
You  have  become  offensive  to  me  on  this  ranch,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  if  you  will  remove  yourself  as  quickly  as 
possible.  I  shall  refund  you  the  money  you  have  paid, 
and  your  agreement  can  be  torn  up." 

"  Then  you  will  not  consider  my  proposal  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  answered  you." 

Tresler  looked  hard  at  the  face  before  him.  Mask- 
like as  it  was,  it  yet  conveyed  something  of  the  fierce 
temper  behind  it.  He  was  glad  he  saw  something  of 
it,  for  he  felt  more  justified  in  the  heat  of  his  own  feel- 
ings. The  man's  words  were  a  studied  insult,  and  he 
was  not  one  to  submit  to  insults  from  anybody, 

**  I  emphatically  refuse,  then,  to  remove  my  offensive 
person,"  he  replied,  with  a  great  assumption  of  calm- 
ness.    *'  Furthermore,  I  will  not  entertain  the  return  of 


340  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

my  premium.  I  am  here  for  three  years*  instruction, 
already  paid  for.  That  instruction  I  demand.  You 
will  understand  it  is  not  in  your  power  to  have  my  of- 
fensive person  removed  either  legally  or  forcibly.  The 
latter  especially,  since  it  would  cost  you  far  more  than 
you  would  find  it  pleasant  to  pay." 

He  expected  to  witness  one  of  those  outbursts  of  fury 
such  as  the  blind  man  had  recently  displayed  toward 
Jake  in  his  presence.  But  nothing  of  the  kind  hap- 
pened.    His  manner  remained  the  same. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  with  something  almost  Iikc  a 
smile.  "  You  drive  me  to  an  alternative,  which,  if  less 
convenient,  is  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  more  satisfactory. 
My  daughter  will  have  to  go.  I  was  prepared  for  this, 
and  have  already  made  arrangements  for  her  to  visit 
certain  friends  this  day  fortnight,  for  an  indefinite 
period.  You  quite  understand,  Tresler,  you  wall  not 
see  her  again.  She  will  remain  away  until  you  leave 
here.  Of  course,  in  the  meantime,  should  you  take  it 
into  your  head  to  follow  her,  you  are  clear-headed 
enough  to  see  that  your  agreement  with  me  would  be 
broken.  Then  she  would  return  at  once,  and  the  ques- 
tion of  force  to  keep  you  apart  would  be  entirely  in  my 
hands.  Further,  I  must  tell  you  that  while  she  is 
away  she  will  be  living  in  an  obscure  settlement  many 
miles  from  here,  where  all  letters  addressed  to  her  will 
be  opened  before  she  receives  them." 

The  blind  man  turned  away,  indicating  that  the  in- 
terview was  ended,  but  Tresler  stood  his  ground, 
though  he  fully  realized  how  thoroughly  this  man  had 
outwitted  him. 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  341 

"  At  least  she  will  be  happier  away  from  here,"  he 
said  significantly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  retorted  the  other,  with  diabolical 
meaning. 

Tresler's  exasperation  could  no  longer  be  restrained. 
**  Your  conduct  is  inhuman  to  thus  persecute  a  helpless 
girl,  your  daughter." 

'*  x\h,  my  daughter.     Yes  ?  " 

But  the  other  gave  no  heed  to  the  sneer.  "  You 
have  no  right  to  stand  between  us,"  he  went  on  angrily. 
*'  You  have  no  reasonable  grounds.  I  tell  you  straight 
I  will  not  submit.  When  your  daughter  is  of  age  I 
will  take  her  from  this  home,  which  is  no  home  to  her, 
from  you  who  have  never  been  a  father  to  her." 

**  True,"  assented  the  other,  with  an  aggravating 
calmness. 

*'  You  will  have  no  power  to  interfere  then.  The 
law " 

''Enough  of  this  nonsense,"  the  rancher  interrupted, 
with  his  first  sign  of  impatience.  "  You'll  never  marry 
Diane  while  1  live.     Take  it  from  me.     Now — get  out ! " 

And  somehow,  in  spite  of  himself,  Tresler  found  him- 
self outside  the  house  and  moving  in  the  direction  of 
the  bunkhouse  at  the  most  rapid  pace  his  weakness 
permitted.  But  before  he  reached  his  destination  Jake 
intercepted  him,  and  he  had  little  doubt  in  his  mind 
that  the  man  had  seen  him  go  to  the  house  and  had 
waited  for  his  return. 

"  Wal  ? "  he  said,  drawling  out  his  inquiry,  as 
though  the  contemplation  of  the  answer  he  would  re- 
ceive    gave    him    more    than    ordinary    satisfaction 


342  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Guess  blind  hulks  is  a  pretty  hard  man  to  deal  with, 
eh  ?     You're  goin'  to  quit  us  ?" 

Tresler  was  in  no  mood  for  this  man's  sneers.  "  No,'* 
he  said.     "  On  the  contrary,  I  stay  till  my  time's  out." 

Jake  could  not  conceal  his  surprise  and  chagrin. 
**You  ain't  quittin'?" 

''  No."    Tresler  really  enjoyed  his  discomfiture. 

*'  An'  you're  goin' " 

'*  No."  A  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  him.  He 
could  hand  something  on  to  this  man.  "  Miss  Marbolt 
is  going  to  be  sent  away  until  such  time  as  I  leave  this 
ranch.  Nearly  three  years,  Jake,"  he  finished  up  ma- 
liciously. 

Jake  stood  thoughtfully  contemplating  the  other^s 
shrunken  figure.  He  displayed  no  feeling,  but  Tresler 
knew  he  had  hit  him  hard. 

*' An'  she's  goin',  when?"  he  asked  at  last. 

*'  This  day  fortnight." 

"  Ah.     This  day  fortnight." 

After  that  Jake  eyed  his  rival  as  though  weighing 
him  up  in  his  mind  along  with  other  things ;  then  he 
said  quietly  — 

*'  Guess  he'd  best  have  sent  her  right  now."  And, 
with  this  enigmatical  remark,  he  abruptly  went  back 
to  his  shack. 

A  week  saw  Tresler  in  the  saddle  again.  His  recu- 
perative powers  w^ere  wonderful.  And  his  strength 
returned  in  a  manner  which  filled  his  comrades  with 
astonishment.  Fresh  air  and  healthy  work  served  as 
far  better  tonics  than  anything  the  horse-doctor  had 
given  him. 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  343 

And  the  week,  at  least  to  Tresler,  was  full  of  portent. 
True,  the  rustlers  had  been  quiet,  but  the  effect  of  their 
recent  doings  was  very  apparent.  The  sheriff  was  now 
in  constant  communication  with  the  ranch.  Fyles 
visited  Julian  Marbolt  frequently,  holding  long  consul- 
tations with  him ;  and  a  significant  fact  was  that  his 
men  made  the  place  a  calling  station.  He  realized 
that  the  long  arm  of  the  law  was  seriously  at  work, 
and  he  wondered  in  what  direction  the  real  object  lay, 
for  he  quite  understood  that  these  open  movements,  in 
all  probability,  cloaked  the  real  suspicions.  Both  he 
and  joe  were  of  opinion  that  the  sheriff  was  acting  on 
some  secret  information,  and  they  puzzled  their  heads 
to  fathom  the  depths  of  the  wily  officer's  motives. 

Then  happened  something  that  Tresler  had  been 
expecting  for  some  time.  He  had  not  seen  Fyles 
to  speak  to  since  the  Willow  Bluff  incident,  and  this 
had  caused  him  some  wonder.  Therefore,  one  day 
while  out  on  a  distant  pasture,  rounding  up  a  small 
bunch  of  yearlings,  he  was  in  no  way  surprised  to  see 
the  farmer-like  figure  of  the  sheriff  appear  over  the 
brow  of  a  rising  ground,  and  canter  his  law-boned 
horse  down  toward  him. 

And  that  meeting  was  in  the  nature  of  an  eye-opener 
to  Tresler.  He  learned  something  of  the  machinery 
that  v/as  at  work ;  of  the  system  of  espionage  that  was 
going  on  over  the  whole  district,  and  the  subtle  means 
of  its  employment.  He  learned,  amongst  other  things, 
something  of  what  Jake  was  doing.  How  he  was  in 
constant  touch  with  a  number  of  half-breeds  of  the 
most  disreputable  type,  and  that  his  doings  were  of  the 


344  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

most  underground  nature.  He  also  learned  that  his 
own  personal  efforts  in  conveying  warning  before  Wil- 
low Bluff  were  more  than  appreciated,  and,  finally,  that 
Fyles  wanted  him  to  further  act  in  concert  with  him. 

Acceding  to  the  officer's  request  he  was  then  in- 
formed of  certain  other  things  for  his  future  guidance. 
And  when  the  man  had  gone,  disappearing  again  over 
the  rising  ground,  in  the  same  ghostly  fashion  that  he 
had  appeared,  he  looked  after  him,  and,  in  reviewing 
all  he  had  heard,  marveled  how  little  he  had  been  told, 
but  what  a  lot  had  been  suggested,  and  how  devilish 
smart  that  farmer-like  man,  in  spite  of  his  recent  fail- 
ures, really  was. 

And  during  those  days  Tresler  heard  very  little  from 
Diane  ;  which  little  came  from  Joe  Nelson.  Now  and 
again  she  sent  him  a  grief-stricken  note  alluding  to  her 
departure.  She  told  him,  although  Joe  had  done  so 
already,  that  her  father  had  brought  Anton  into  the 
house  for  the  express  purpose  of  preventing  any  com- 
munication with  him,  Tresler,  and  to  generally  keep 
sentry  over  her.  She  told  him  much  that  made  his 
heart  bleed  for  her,  and  made  him  spend  hours  at  night 
writing  pages  of  cheering  messages  to  her.  There 
was  no  help  for  it.  He  was  powerless  to  do  more  than 
try  to  console  her,  and  he  frequently  found  himself 
doubting  if  the  course  he  had  selected  was  the  right 
one  ;  if  he  were  not  aggravating  her  position  by  re- 
maining on  the  ranch.  His  reason  told  him  that  it  was 
surely  best.  If  she  had  to  go  away,  she  would,  at 
least,  be  free  of  Jake,  and,  no  matter  what  condition 
the  people  to  w^hom  she  was  to  be  sent,  no  worse  as* 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  345 

sociations  than  the  combination  of  the  blind  man  and 
his  mate  could  possibly  be  found  for  lier  anywhere. 

It  was  a  poor  sort  of  consolation  with  which  he  bol 
stered  himself,  and  he  spent  many  miserable  hours 
during  those  last  few  days.  Once  he  had  said  to  Joe, 
"  If  I  could  only  see  her  for  a  few  minutes  it  might  be 
some  measure  of  comfort  to  us  both."  But  Joe  had 
shaken  his  gray  head.  "  It  ain't  no  use,"  he  said. 
"  You  can't  take  no  chances  foolin'  wi'  Anton  around. 
'Sides,  things  might  be  wuss,"  he  finished  up,  with  a 
considerable  emphasis. 

And  so  Tresler  had  to  be  content ;  ill  at  ease,  chafing, 
but  quite  powerless.  In  truth  the  rancher  had  out- 
witted him  with  a  vengeance ;  moreover,  what  he  had 
said  he  soon  showed  that  he  meant,  for  Joe  brought 
him  the  news,  two  days  before  the  date  fixed  for  de- 
parture, that  Diane  was  making  her  preparations,  and 
had  even  begun  to  pack  up. 

And  all  this  time  Jake  was  very  cheerful.  The  men 
on  the  ranch  never  remembered  an  easier  time  than 
the  foreman  was  giving  them  now.  He  interfered  very 
little  with  the  work,  and,  except  at  the  morning  muster, 
they  hardly  saw  anything  of  him.  Tresler  he  never 
came  near.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  he  had 
ever  discussed  Anton  with  him.  It  may  have  been 
that  that  discussion  had  only  been  inspired  on  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment,  or  it  may  have  been — and  Tresler 
thought  this  far  more  likely — he  had  deeper  plans. 
However,  the  man,  in  face  of  Diane's  departure,  was 
unusually  cheerful,  and  the  wise  old  Joe  quickly  ob^ 
served  the  fact. 


346  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

For  Joe  to  observe  anything  of  interest  was  the 
cue  for  him  to  inquire  further,  and  thus  he  set  him- 
self to  watch  Jake.  And  his  watching  quicky  resulted 
in  Tresler's  attention  being  called  to  Jake's  movements 
at  night.  Joe  found  that  night  after  night  Jake  left  the 
ranch,  always  on  foot,  but  he  left  it  for  hours  at  a  time. 
Twice  during  the  last  week  he  did  not  return  until  day- 
light. All  this  was  more  than  interesting,  but  nothing 
developed  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  until  the  last  day  o\ 
Diane's  stay  on  the  ranch.  Then  Jake  visited  her, 
and,  taking  her  out  of  the  kitchen,  had  a  long  confab- 
ulation with  her  in  the  open.  Joe  watched  them,  but, 
much  to  his  disgust,  had  no  means  of  learning  the 
man's  object.  However,  there  was  only  one  thing  for 
him  to  do.  and  he  did  it  without  delay  :  he  hurried 
down  to  convey  his  news  to  Tresler,  who  was  having 
supper  at  the  bunkhouse. 

Taking  him  on  one  side  he  imparted  his  tidings 
hurriedly.  And  in  conclusion  spoke  with  evident 
alarm. 

"  Ther's  suthin'  doin',"  he  said,  in,  for  him,  quite  a 
condition  of  excitement.  **  I  can't  locate  it  nohow. 
But  Jake,  he's  that  queer.  See,  he's  jest  gone  right 
into  his  shack.     Ther's  suthin'  doin',  sure." 

**And  didn't  you  ask  her  what  it  was  all  about?  " 
asked  Tresler,  catching  something  of  the  other's 
manner. 

"  Wal,  no.  That  is,  I  guess  I  mentioned  it  like,  but 
Miss  Dianny  wus  that  frustrated  an'  kind  o'  angry  she 
jest  went  right  up  to  her  room,  an'  I  thought  best  to 
git  around  hyar." 


HOT  UPON  THE  TRAIL  347 

Tresler  was  thinking  hard  ;  and  while  he  thought  he 
stood  watching  the  door  where  they  had  both  seen 
Jake  disappear.  It  occurred  to  him  to  go  and  seek 
Diane  for  himself.  Poor  girl,  she  would  surely  tell 
him  if  there  were  anything  wrong.  After  all,  he  had 
the  right  to  know.     Then  he  thought  of  Anton. 

"  Was  Anton ?  '* 

He  had  turned  to  Joe,  but  his  remark  was  cut  short. 
Jake's  door  suddenly  opened  and  the  foreman  came 
hurriedly  out.  Joe  caught  his  companion  by  the  arm, 
and  they  both  looked  after  the  giant  as  he  strode  away 
toward  the  barn.  And  they  simultaneously  became 
aware  of  something  unsteady  in  his  gait.  Joe  was  the 
first  to  draw  attention  to  it 

*'  Say,  he's  bin  drinkin',"  he  whispered,  in  an  awed 
manner. 

Tresler  nodded.  This  was  something  quite  new. 
Jake,  with  all  his  faults,  was  not  usually  given  to  drink. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  particularly  sober  man. 

Tresler  swiftly  made  up  his  mind.  "  I'm  going  to 
see  what's  up,  Joe,"  he  said.  **  Do  you  see  ?  He's 
making  for  Marbolt's  stable.'* 

It  was  almost  dusk.  The  men  had  settled  down  to 
their  evening's  occupations.  Tresler  and  Joe  were 
standing  alone  in  the  shadow  of  the  bunkhouse  wall. 
The  lamp  was  lit  within  the  building,  and  the  glow 
from  the  window,  which  was  quite  near  them,  dark- 
ened the  prospect  still  further.  However,  Tresler  still 
could  see  the  foreman,  an  indistinct  shadow  in  the 
growing  darkness. 

Leaving  his  companion  without  further  remark  he 


348  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

hurried  after  the  disappearing  man  and  took  up  his 
position  near  the  barn,  whence  he  could  both  see  and 
hear  what  might  be  going  forward. 

Jake  reached  the  door  of  the  stable  and  knocked  on 
ft  in  a  forceful  and  peremptory  manner. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP 

Impelled  by  curiosity  and  nervous  anticipation 
Tresler  did  not  long  remain  in  the  shelter  of  the  barn. 
It  was  too  dark  to  see  distinctly  all  that  way  off,  so  he 
closed  up  on  the  object  of  his  watch.  He  intended  to 
miss  nothing  of  what  was  happening,  so  he  crept  out 
into  the  open,  quite  careless  of  the  chances  of  being 
discovered  at  his  undignified  occupation. 

And  all  the  time  he  was  a  prey  to  unpleasant  fore- 
boding; that  unaccountable  foreboding  so  truly  pro- 
phetic, which  refuses  to  be  shaken  off.  He  knew  that 
disaster  was  in  the  air  as  surely  as  if  it  had  all  hap- 
pened, and  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to  gaze 
impotently  upon  the  ruin.  He  had  a  certain  amount 
of  reason  for  his  fears,  of  course,  but  that  reason  was 
largely  speculative,  and,  had  he  been  asked  to  state 
definitely  what  he  anticipated,  on  whom  disaster  was 
to  fall,  he  could  not  have  answered  with  any  real  con- 
viction. Something  prompted  him  that  Jake  was  to  be 
the  central  figure,  the  prime  mover.  But  beyond  that 
his  ideas  were  vague.  The  man's  very  summons  at 
the  door  was  a  positive  aggravation,  and  suggested 
possibilities. 

An  answer  came  with  the  abrupt  opening  of  the  sta- 
ble door,  which  revealed  the  lithe  figure  of  the  dusky 


350  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

half-breed,  framed  in  a  setting  of  dingy  yellow  ligh^ 
from  the  lantern  within.  He  could  see  the  insolent, 
upward  stare  of  the  man's  eyes  as  he  looked  up  into 
the  great  man's  face  ;  nor  at  that  moment  could  he 
help  thinking  of  all  he  had  heard  of  *' Tough"  McCul 
loch.  And  the  recollection  brought  him  a  further  feel- 
ing of  uneasiness  for  the  man  who  had  thus  come  to 
beard  him  in  his  own  den. 

But  even  while  these  thoughts  passed  swiftly  through 
his  brain  the  bullying,  hectoring  tones  of  Jake's  voice 
came  to  him.  They  were  unnecessarily  loud,  and  there 
was  a  thickness  in  them  which  corroborated  the  evidence 
of  his  uneven  gait.  Jake  had  certainly  been  priming 
himself  with  spirit. 

"Where  was  you  last  night,  Anton?"  he  heard  him 
ask. 

"An'  wher'  should  I  be,  Mr.  Jake?"  came  the  half- 
breed's  sullen  retort. 

"That  ain't  no  answer,"  the  other  cried,  in  a  vicious 
tone. 

The  half-breed  shrugged  with  apparent  indifference, 
only  there  was  no  indifference  in  the  resentful  flash  of 
his  eyes. 

"  I  not  answer  to  you,"  he  said,  in  his  broken  way, 
throwing  as  much  insolence  as  he  could  into  his 
words. 

Jake's  fury  needed  no  urging ;  the  spirit  had  wound 
him  up  to  the  proper  pitch. 

"You  black  son-of-a ,"  he  cried,  "you  shall  an- 
swer to  me.  For  two  pins  I'd  wring  your  blasted  neck, 
only  I'm  savin'  that  fer  the  rope.     I'll  tell  you  wher* 


BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP  351 

you  was  last  night  You  vver'  out.  Out  with  the 
horses.  D'you  hear  ?  And  you  weren't  at  the  Breed 
camp  neither.     I  know  wher'  you  was." 

"  Guess  you  shoot  your  mouth  off,"  Anton  said,  with 
dangerous  calmness.  ''  Bah !  I  tell  you  I  stay  right 
hyar,     I  not  out.     You  mad  !     Voila  !  " 

Suddenly  Jake's  hand  went  up  as  though  to  strike 
the  man,  but  the  blow  did  not  fall.  His  arm  dropped 
to  his  side  again  ;  for  once  caution  saved  him.  Tres- 
ler  felt  that  had  the  blow  fallen  there  might  perhaps 
have  been  a  sudden  and  desperate  end  to  the  scene. 
As  it  was  he  listened  to  Jake's  final  words,  with  every 
nerve  throbbing. 

''  You  lie,  you  black  son-of-a ;  you  lie !  '* 

And  then  he  saw  him  swing  round  on  his  heel  and 
stride  away  to  the  rancher's  house,  as  if  he  could  no 
longer  control  himself  and  sought  safety  in  flight. 

For  the  moment  the  watcher  was  so  interested  in  the 
half-breed  that  he  lost  the  significance  of  the  foreman's 
going.  Anton  was  still  standing  in  the  doorway,  and 
the  expression  of  his  face  was  plainly  visible  in  the 
lamplight.  There  was  a  saturnine  grin  about  the  lower 
part  of  the  features,  but  the  black  eyes  were  blazing 
with  a  deep  fire  of  hatred.  He  looked  after  the  de- 
parting man  until  he  reached  the  verandah,  then  sud- 
denly, as  though  an  inspiration  had  moved  him,  he 
vanished  at  a  run  within  the  stable. 

Now  Tresler  became  aware  of  Jake's  object.  He  had 
mounted  the  verandah  and  was  making  for  the  door  of 
the  house.  And  this  sight  moved  him  to  immediate 
action.     Without  a  second  thought  he  set  off  at  a  run 


352  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

to  warn  Diane  of  the  visit.  Why  he  wished  to  warn 
her  he  did  not  know.  Perhaps  it  was  the  result  of 
premonition,  for  he  knew  quite  well  that  it  was  Jake's 
custom  to  wait  on  his  chief  at  about  this  time  in  the 
evening. 

He  skirted  the  house  well  out  of  range  of  the  light 
of  its  windows,  and  came  to  the  kitchen  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  blind  man  calling  to  his  daughter  for  a  light. 
And  when  Diane  returned  from  obeying  the  order  she 
found  him  waiting  for  her.  Her  first  feeling  was  one 
of  apprehension,  then  love  overcame  her  fears  and  she 
ran  to  him. 

**  Jack  I "  she  whispered  softly.     "  You  here  ?  " 

He  folded  her  in  a  bear-like  embrace,  and  as  she 
raised  her  face  to  him  to  speak  he  stopped  her  with  a 
rain  of  kisses.  The  joy  of  the  moment  had  driven  the 
object  of  his  coming  from  his  head,  and  they  stood 
heart  to  heart,  lost  in  their  mutual  happiness,  until 
Jake's  voice,  raised  in  bitter  imprecation,  reached  them 
from  the  office.  Then  Tresler  abruptly  put  her  from 
him. 

''  I  had  forgotten,  dear,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 
**  No,  don't  close  that  door."  Diane  had  moved  over 
to  the  door  leading  into  the  dining-room.  "  Leave  it 
open.     It  is  on  that  account  I  am  here." 

**  On  what  account?"  the  girl  asked,  in  some  per- 
plexity. 

**  Jake.     There's  something  up,  and — hark  ! " 

They  stood  listening.  The  foreman's  voice  was 
raised  again.  But  now  Marbolt's  broke  in,  sharp,  in- 
cisive.    And  the  words  were  plainly  audible. 


BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP  353 

"  Keep  your  voice  down/*  he  said.  *'  D'you  want  the 
girl  to  hear  everything?  You  were  always  a  blun- 
derer, Jake." 

"  Blunderer  be "     But  he  nevertheless  lowered 

his  tone,  for  the  listeners  could  distinguish  nothing 
more. 

**  He's  up  to  some  deviFs  work,"  Tresler  whispered, 
after  making  sure  they  could  hear  no  more.  "  Danny," 
he  went  on  eagerly,  **  I  must  slip  into  the  hall  and  try 

and  hear  what's  going  on.     I  must  be  ready  to 

Listen !  He's  cursing  again.  Wait  here.  Not  a 
sound  ;  not  a  word  !     There's  going  to  be  trouble." 

And  his  assertion  seemed  to  have  reason  enough, 
for  the  rancher's  sharp  tones  were  now  mingling  with 
the  harsher  note  of  the  other,  and  both  had  raised  their 
voices  again.  Tresler  waited  for  nothing  now.  He 
tiptoed  to  the  door  and  stood  listening.  Then  he  crept 
silently  out  into  the  hall  and  stole  along  toward  the 
blind  man's  office.  He  paused  as  he  drew  near  the 
open  door,  and  glanced  round  for  some  hiding-place 
whence  he  could  see  within.  The  hall  was  unlit,  and 
only  the  faintest  light  reached  it  from  the  office.  There 
was  a  long,  heavy  overcoat  hanging  on  the  opposite 
wall,  almost  directly  in  front  of  the  door,  and  he  made 
for  it,  crossing  the  hall  in  the  darkest  part,  and  sidling 
along  in  the  shadow  until  he  reached  it.  Here  he  drew 
it  in  front  of  him,  so  that  he  only  elongated  its  outline 
and  yet  obtained  a  full  view  of  the  room. 

Jake  was  not  visible.  And  Tresler  concluded  that  he 
was  sitting  in  the  chair  which  he  knew  to  be  behind 
the  door.     But  the  blind  man  was  almost  directly  in 


354  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

front  of  him.  He  was  seated  beside  the  small  window 
table  on  which  the  lamp  stood,  a  safety  lamp,  especially 
reserved  for  his  use  on  account  of  his  blindness.  His 
ruddy  eyes  were  staring  in  the  direction  in  which  Tres- 
ler  believed  Jake  to  be  sitting,  and  such  was  the  eflect 
of  that  intent  stare  that  the  watching  man  drew  well 
within  his  cover,  as  though  he  feared  the  sightless 
sockets  would  penetrate  his  hiding-place. 

But  even  from  this  vantage  ground  he  found  his  pur- 
pose thwarted.  Jake  was  talking,  but  his  voice  was  so 
low  that  it  only  reached  him  in  a  thick  growl  which 
blurred  his  words  into  a  hazy  murmur.  Therefore  he 
fixed  his  attention  on  the  man  facing  him,  watching, 
and  seeking  information  from  his  expression  and  gen- 
eral attitude. 

And  what  he  beheld  riveted  his  attention.  What- 
ever control  the  blind  man  had  over  himself — and 
Tresler  had  reason  to  know  what  wonderful  control  he 
had — his  expression  was  quite  unguarded  now.  There 
was  a  devilish  cruelty  in  every  line  in  his  hard,  un- 
yielding features.  His  sanguinary  eyes  were  burning 
with  a  curiously  real  live  light — probably  the  reflection 
of  the  lamp  on  the  table — and  his  habitually  knit  brows 
were  scowling  to  an  extent  that  the  eyes  beneath  them 
looked  like  sparks  of  living  fire.  And  though  he  was 
lounging  comfortably  back  in  his  chair,  without  energy, 
without  alertness,  and  one  arm  was  resting  on  the  table 
at  his  side,  and  his  outstretched  fingers  were  indolently 
drumming  out  a  tattoo  on  the  bare  wood,  his  breath 
was  coming  short  and  fast,  in  a  manner  that  belied  his 
attitude. 


BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP  355 

Had  Tresler  only  seen  behind  the  door  he  would 
have  been  startled,  even  alarmed.  The  inflamed  Jake 
was  oblivious  to  everything  but  his  own  purpose.  His 
mind  was  set  on  the  object  of  his  talk,  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  else.  Just  then  he  had  not  the  slightest  fear  of 
the  blind  man.  There  was  nothing  of  the  submission 
about  him  now  that  he  had  displayed  once  before  in 
Tresler's  presence.  It  was  the  spirit  he  had  imbibed 
that  had  fortified  him  for  the  time.  It  is  probable  that 
Jake,  at  that  moment,  had  no  fear  of  either  man  or 
devil. 

And,  though  Tresler  could  not  distinguish  a  word, 
his  talk  was  braggart,  domineering,  and  there  was  a 
strong  flavor  of  drink  in  its  composition.  But  even  so, 
there  was  a  relentless  purpose  in  it,  too. 

''  Ther'  ain't  no  option  fer  you,  Marbolt,^'  Jake  was 
saying.  ''You've  never  given  me  an  option,  and  Fm 
not  goin'  to  be  such  a  blazing  fool  as  to  give  you  one. 
God  A' mighty,  Marbolt,  ther'  never  was  i%ian  treated 
as  I've  been  by  you.  We've  been  together  fer  donkey's 
years,  I  guess.  'Way  back  in  them  old  days,  when  we 
was  mates,  before  you  was  blind,  before  you  was  cranked 
against  'most  everybody,  when  we  scrapped  agin  them 
black-backs  in  the  Indies  side  by  side,  when  we  quar- 
reled an'  made  friends  again,  I  liked  you,  Marbolt,  an' 
I  worked  honest  by  you.  There  wa'n't  nothin'  mean 
to  you,  then,  'cept  in  handin'  out  dollars.  I  hadn't  no 
kick  comin'  those  days.  I  worked  fer  so  much,  an'  I 
see  I  got  it.  I  didn't  ask  no  more,  an'  I  guess  I  didn't 
want.  That's  all  right.  Then  you  got  blind  an'  you 
changed  round.     That's  where  the  rub  come.     I  was  no 


356  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

better  than  the  rest  to  you.  You  fergot  everything 
that  had  gone.  You  fergot  I  was  a  square  dealin'  man 
by  you,  an*  since  that  time  I've  been  dirt  under  your 
feet.  Psha  I  it  ain't  no  use  in  talkin' ;  you  know  these 
things  just  as  well  as  I  do.  But  you  might  have  given 
me  a  show.  You  might  have  treated  me  *  white.'  It  was 
to  your  interest.  I'd  have  stayed  by  you.  I'd  have 
done  good  by  you.  An'  I'd  have  been  real  sorry  when 
you  died.  But  I  ain't  no  use  fer  that  sort  o'  thing 
now.  What  I  want  I'm  goin'  to  have,  an'  you've  got 
to  give — see  ?  It  ain't  a  question  of  *  by-your-leave  ' 
now.     I  say  right  here  I  want  your  gal." 

The  man  paused.  But  Marbolt  remained  undis- 
turbed. He  still  beat  an  idle  tattoo  on  the  table,  only 
his  hand  had  drawn  nearer  to  the  lamp  and  the  steady 
rapping  of  his  fingers  was  a  shade  louder,  as  though 
more  nervous  force  were  unconsciously  finding  outlet 
in  the  movement. 

"  So  you  want  my  girl,"  he  said,  his  lips  scarcely 
parting  to  let  the  tone  of  his  voice  pass. 

*'  Ay,"  Jake  said  emphatically,  "  I  want  that  gal  as  I 
took  out  o'  the  water  once.  You  remember.  You  said 
she'd  fell  overboard,  after  I'd  hauled  her  back  on  to  the 
ship  out  o'  reach  o'  the  sharks.  That's  what  you  said 
—after." 

He  paused  significantly.  If  he  had  expected  any 
display  from  his  hearer  he  must  have  been  disap- 
pointed. The  other  remained  quite  still  except  for 
those  moving  fingers  tapping  their  way  nearer  and 
nearer  the  lamp. 

-  Go  on." 


BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP  357 

"  Wal,  I've  told  you  how  I  stand,  an'  I've  told  you 
how  you  stand,"  Jake  proceeded,  with  his  voice  ever  so 
little  raised.  He  felt  that  the  other  was  too  easy.  And, 
in  his  unimaginative  way,  he  thought  he  had  spoken 
too  gently.  *'  An'  I  say  again  I  want  that  gal  fer  my 
wife.  Time  was  when  you  would  have  been  glad  to  be 
quit  of  her,  'bout  the  time  she  fell  overboard.  Being 
ready  to  part  then,  why  not  now  ?  I'm  goin'  to  get  her, 
— an'  what  do  I  pay  in  return  ?  You  know.  You'll 
go  on  ranchin'  in  peace.  I'll  even  stay  your  foreman 
if  you  so  want.  I'll  shut  right  down  on  the  business  we 
both  know  of,  an'  you  won't  have  nothin*  to  fear.  It's 
a  fair  an'  square  deal." 

''  A  fair  and  square  deal ;  most  generous." 

Even  Jake  detected  the  sarcasm,  and  his  anger  rose  at 
once.  But  he  gave  no  heed  to  those  fingers  which  had 
now  transferred  their  attention  to  the  brass  body  of  the 
lamp. 

''  I'm  waitin*  fer  your  answer,"  he  said  sharply. 

Tresler  now  heard  his  words  for  the  first  time. 

**  Go  slow,  Jake,  go  slow,"  retorted  the  rancher.  **  I 
like  to  digest  the  position  thoroughly.  You  put  it  sa 
well." 

The  sarcasm  had  grown  more  fierce  by  reason  of  the 
restraint  the  rancher  was  putting  on  himself.  And  this 
restraint  was  further  evident  in  the  movement  of  the 
hand  which  had  now  settled  itself  upon  the  body  ot 
the  lamp,  and  clutched  it  nervously. 

Jake  no  longer  kept  check  on  himself.  And  his  an* 
swer  came  in  a  roar. 

*' You  shall  take  my  price,  or " 


358  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Keep  calm,  you  blundering  jackass  ! "  the  blind  man 
rasped  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

"  No,  you  don't,  Mr.  blasted  Marbolt  1 "  cried  Jake, 
springing  to  his  feet  and  moving  out  to  the  middle  of 
the  room  threateningly.  ''  No,  you  don't !  "  he  cried 
again ;  "  I've  had  enough  of  that.  God's  curse  on 
you  for  a  low  swine  !  I'll  talk  no  more  ;  it's  '  yes  '  or 
*  no.'  Remember  "= — he  bent  over  toward  the  sitting 
man  and  pointed  in  his  face  with  fierce  delight — ''  I  am 

your  master  now,  an'  ef  you  don't  do  as  I  say,  by  G 1 

but  I'll  make  you  whine  for  mercy." 

And  Marbolt' s  answer  came  with  a  crash  of  brass  and 
smashing  of  glass,  a  leap  of  flame,  then  darkness,  as  he 
hurled  the  lamp  to  the  floor  and  extinguished  it.  It 
came  in  silence,  but  a  silence  ruffled  by  the  sound  of 
sudden  movement.  It  came,  as  was  only  to  be  ex- 
pected from  a  man  like  him,  without  warning,  like  the 
silent  attack  of  a  puma,  and  with  as  deadly  intent. 

Tresler  could  see  nothing,  but  he  knew  that  death  was 
hovering  over  that  room  for  some  one.  Suddenly  he 
heard  the  table  dragged  or  pushed  across  the  floor,  and 
Jake's  voice,  harsh  with  the  effort  of  struggle,  reached 
him. 

*'  You  would,  w^ould  you  ?     Right ;  it's  you  or  me  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  onlooker  was  about  to  rush  for- 
ward, for  what  purpose  he  had  but  the  vaguest  idea. 
But  even  as  he  took  the  first  step  he  felt  himself  seized 
forcibly  by  the  arm  from  behind.  And  Diane's  voice 
whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  Not  you.  Jack  !  "  she  said  eagerly.  **  Leave  it  to 
me ;  I — I  can  save  him — ^^Jake." 


BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP  359 

"Jake?^' 

*'  Yes." 

She  was  gone,  and  in  an  instant  returned  with  the 
lighted  kitchen  lamp,  which  she  held  aloft  as  she  rushed 
into  the  room. 

Tresler  was  taken  utterly  by  surprise.  The  girl's 
movements  were  so  sudden,  so  unexpected,  and  her 
words  so  strange. 

There  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  the 
light  held  above  her  head  like  some  statue.  And  all 
the  signs  of  a  deadly  struggle  were  about  her.  Jake 
was  sheltered  behind  the  window  table,  and  stood 
blinking  in  the  sudden  light,  staring  at  her  in  blank  as- 
tonishment. But  the  chief  figure  of  interest  was  the 
blind  man.  He  was  groping  about  the  opposite  edge 
of  the  table,  pitifully  helpless,  but  snarling  in  im- 
potent and  thwarted  fury.  His  right  hand  was  still 
grasping  the  hilt  of  a  vicious-looking,  two-edged 
hunting-knife,  w^hose  point  Tresler  saw  was  dripping 
blood. 

Suddenly  he  turned  fiercely  on  the  girl.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  had  been  held  silent,  confounded,  but  now  his 
voice  rang  out  in  an  access  of  fury. 

''  You  jade  ! "  he  cried,  and  moved  as  though  to  at- 
tack her. 

Tresler  was  about  to  leap  to  her  assistance,  but  at 
that  instant  the  man's  attention  was  suddenly  diverted. 
Jake  saw  his  chance  and  made  for  the  door.  With  a 
bitter  imprecation  the  blind  man  lunged  at  him  as  he 
went,  fell  against  the  table,  and  stum.bled  almost  to  the 
ground.     Instantly  the  girl  took  advantage  of  his  posi- 


36o  THE  NIGHT-] 

tion  and  followed  Jake  out,  slamming  the  door  behind 
her  and  swiftly  turning  the  key  as  she  went. 

Diane  had  shown  herself  in  a  new  light.  Her  pres* 
ence  of  mind  was  startling,  and  the  whole  thing  was 
enacted  so  swifdy  that  Tresler  failed  to  grasp  the  full 
meaning  of  it  all.  Jake  had  not  seen  him.  In  a  blind 
rush  he  had  made  for  the  hall  door  and  passed  out 
The  only  thing  that  seemed  real  to  Tresler  was  Diane's 
safety,  and  he  caught  her  by  the  arm  to  take  her  to 
the  kitchen.  But  the  girl's  readiness  would  permit  of 
no  such  waste  of  time. 

'*  No,"  she  whispered  quickly.  *'  Leave  me  and  fol- 
low Jake.  Joe  is  in  the  kitchen  and  will  protect  me  if 
need  be.  Quick  !  "  she  went  on,  stamping  her  foot  in 
her  excitement.  *'  Go  !  Look  to  hinx  There  must  be 
no  murder  done  here." 

And  Tresler  was  forced,  much  against  his  will,  to 
leave  her.  For  the  moment  Diane  had  soared  to  a 
height  of  alertness  and  ready  action  which  was  irresist- 
ible. Without  a  word  he  went,  passing  out  of  the 
front  door. 

Jake  had  left  the  verandah,  and,  in  the  moonlight, 
Tresler  could  see  him  moving  down  the  hill  in  the 
direction  of  his  shack.  He  followed  him  swiftly.  But 
he  was  too  late.  The  whole  thing  happened  before  his 
very  eyes,  while  he  was  yet  too  far  off  to  stay  the  ruth- 
less act,  before  his  warning  shout  could  serve. 

He  saw  a  figure  dart  out  from  the  rancher's  stable. 
He  saw  it  halt  and  stand.  He  saw  one  arm  stretched 
out,  and  he  realized  and  shouted  to  Jake. 

The  foreman  stood,  turned,  a  pistol-shot  rang  out, 


BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP  361 

and  he  fell  on  his  face.  Tresler  ran  forward,  but  before 
he  could  reach  him  two  more  shots  rang  out,  and  a 
third  sent  its  bullet  whistling  past  his  own  head. 

He  ran  for  the  man  w^ho  had  fired  them.  He  knew 
him  now  ;  it  was  Anton.  But,  fleet  of  foot,  the  halt- 
breed  had  reached  the  stable,  where  a  horse  stood 
ready  saddled.  He  saw  him  vault  into  the  saddle,  and 
he  saw  him  vanish  into  the  adjacent  woods  Then,  at 
last,  he  gave  up  the  chase  and  ran  back  to  the  fallen 
man. 

Kneeling  at  his  side  he  raised  the  great  leonine  head. 
The  man  was  alive,  and  he  shouted  to  the  men  at  the 
bunkhouse  for  aid.     But  even  as  he  called  Jake  spoke. 

**  It  ain't  no  good,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  tone.     "  I'm 

done.     Done  up  by  that  lyin'  son-of-a ,  *  Tough ' 

McCulloch.  I  might  'a'  known.  Guess  I  flicked  him 
sore."  He  paused  as  the  sound  of  running  feet  came 
from  the  bunkhouse  and  Arizona's  voice  was  calling 
to  know  Tresler's  whereabouts.  Then  the  foreman's 
great  frame  gave  a  shiver.  "  Quick,  Tresler,"  he  said^ 
in  a  voice  that  had  suddenly  grown  faint ;  "  ther'  ain't 
much  time.  Listen !  get  around  Widow  Dangley'f 
place — to-night — two — mornin'  all " 

There  came  a  rattle  of  flowing  blood  in  his  throa? 
which  blurred  anything  else  he  had  to  say.  But  he 
had  said  sufficient.     Tresler  understood. 

When  Arizona  came  up  Jake,  so  long  the  bully  ol 
Mosquito  Bend,  had  passed  over  the  One- Way  Trail 
He  died  shot  in  three  places,  twice  in  the  chest  and 
once  in  the  stomach.  Anton,  or  rather  ''  Tough  '' 
McCulloch,  had  done  his  work  with  all  the  consummate 


362  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

skill  for  which  he  had  once  been  so  notorious.  And 
as  something  of  this  flashed  through  Tresier's  brain, 
another  thought  came  with  it,  prompted  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Arizona,  who  w^as  now  on  his  knees  beside  him. 

''It's  Anton,  Arizona,"  he  said.  ''Jake  riled  him. 
He  shot  him,  and  has  bolted  through  the  wood,  back 
there,  mounted  on  one  of  Marbolt's  horses.  He's 
making  fc  '  the  hills.  Quick,  here,  listen!  the  others 
are  coming.     You  know  '  Tough'  McCulloch  ?" 

"  Wal  ?  "  There  was  an  ominous  ring  in  Arizona's 
voice. 

"You'd  like  to  find  him?" 

**  Better'n  heaven." 

*'  Anton  is  *  Tough '  McCulloch." 

''Who  told  you?" 

"Jake,  here.  I  didn't  mention  it  before,  because — 
because " 

"  Did  you  say  the  hills  ?  " 

Arizona  had  risen  to  his  feet.  There  was  no  emotion 
in  his  manner.  They  might  have  been  discussing  the 
most  ordinary  topic.  Now  the  rest  of  the  men  crowded 
round.  And  Tresler  heard  the  rancher's  voice  calling 
from  the  verandah  to  inquire  into  the  meaning  of  the 
shots.  However,  heedless  of  the  others,  he  replied  to 
the  cowpuncher's  question. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"Shake.     S'long." 

The  two  men  gripped  and  Arizona  faded  away  in  the 
uncertain  light,  in  the  direction  of  the  barn. 

And  the  dead  Jake  was  borne  by  rough  but  gentle 
hands  into  his  own  shack.     And  there  was  not  one 


BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  LAMP  363 

amongst  those  "boys  "  but  would  have  been  ready  and 
eager  to  help  him,  if  help  had  been  possible.  Even  on 
the  prairie  death  atones  for  much  that  in  life  is  voted 
intolerable. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S 

Inside  the  hut,  where  Jake  had  so  long  been  masterj 
the  boys  were  grouped  round  the  bunk  on  which  their 
old  oppressor  was  laid  out ;  the  strong,  rough  fellows 
were  awed  with  the  magnitude  of  the  outrage.  Jake, 
Jake  Harnach,  the  terror  of  the  ranch,  *'done  up." 
The  thought  was  amazing.  Tresler  was  quietly  strip- 
ping clothes  from  the  dead  man's  upper  body  to  free 
the  wounds  for  the  doctor's  inspection,  and  Raw  Har- 
ris was  close  beside  him.  It  was  while  in  the  midst  of 
this  operation  that  the  former  came  upon  another 
wound.  Raw  Harris  also  saw  it,  and  at  once  drew  his 
attention. 

"  Guess  I  heerd  four  shots/'  he  said.  **  Say,  that 
feller  Anton  was  a  daddy.  Four  of  'em,  an'  all  found 
their  mark.  I  'lows  this  one'son'y  a  graze.  Might  'a' 
bin  done  wi'  a  knife,  et's  so  clean.  Yes,  sirree,  he  was  a 
daddy,  sure." 

As  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  contradict  the  state- 
ment that  Anton  was  a  "daddy,"  and  as  the  question 
of  four  shots  or  three  was  of  no  vital  interest  to  the  on- 
lookers, the  matter  passed  unheeded.  Only  Tresler 
found  food  for  reflection.  That  fourth  wound  he  knew 
had  not  been  inflicted  by  the  half-breed.     He  rem  em. 


AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S  365 

bered  the  rancher's  knife  and  its  dripping  point,  and  he 
remembered  Jake's  cry,  "  You  would,  would  you !  '* 
He  needed  no  other  explanation. 

While  the  two  men  were  still  bending  over  their  task 
there  was  a  slight  stir  at  the  open  door.  The  silent 
onlookers  parted,  leaving  a  sort  of  aisle  to  the  bedside, 
and  Julian  Marbolt  came  shuffling  his  way  through 
them,  heralded  by  the  regular  tap,  tap,  of  his  guiding 
stick. 

It  was  with  many  conflicting  emotions  that  Tresler 
looked  round  when  he  heard  the  familiar  sound.  He 
stared  at  the  man  as  he  might  stare  at  some  horrid 
beast  of  prey,  fascinated  even  against  himself.  It  would 
have  been  hard  to  say  what  feeling  was  uppermost 
with  him  at  the  moment.  Astonishment,  loathing,  ex- 
pectation, and  even  some  dread,  all  struggled  for  place, 
and  the  combination  held  him  silent,  waiting  for  what 
that  hateful  presence  was  to  bring  forth.  He  could 
have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  denounce  him  then  and 
there,  only  it  would  have  served  no  purpose,  and  would 
probably  have  done  much  harm.  Therefore  he  con- 
tented himself  wdth  gazing  into  the  inflamed  depths  of 
the  man's  mysterious  eyes  wdth  an  intentness  he  had 
never  yet  bestowed  upon  them,  and  while  he  looked 
all  the  horror  of  the  scene  in  the  office  stole  over  him 
again  and  made  him  shudder. 

''Where  is  he — where  is  Jake  ?  "  the  blind  man  asked, 
halting  accurately  at  the  bedside. 

The  question  was  directed  at  no  one  in  particular, 
but  Tresler  took  it  upon  himself  to  answer. 

"  Lying  on  the  bed  before  you,"  he  said  coldly. 


366  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

The  man  turned  on  him  swiftly.  "  Ah— Tresler,"  he 
said. 

Then  he  bent  over  the  bed,  and  his  hands  groped  over 
the  dead  man's  body  till  they  came  into  contact  with 
the  congealing  blood  round  the  woundln  his  stomach. 

With  a  movement  of  repulsion  he  drew  back  sharply. 
'*  He's  not  dead  ?  "  he  questioned,  with  a  queer  eager- 
ness, turning  round  to  those  about  him. 

''  Yes,  he  is  dead,"  replied  Tresler,  with  unintentional 
solemnity. 

"  Who— who  did  it  ?  " 

The  question  came  in  a  tense  voice,  sharper  and 
more  eagerly  than  the  preceding  one. 

"  Anton,"  chorused  the  men,  as  though  finding  re- 
lief from  their  long  silence  in  the  announcement.  The 
crime  was  even  secondary  to  the  personality  of  the  cul- 
prit with  them.  Anton's  name  was  uppermost  in  their 
minds,  and  so  they  spoke  it  readily. 

*'  Anton  ?     And  where  is  he  ?     Have  you  got  him  ?  *' 

The  rancher  had  turned  about,  and  addressed  him- 
self generally. 

"  Anton  has  made  off  with  one  of  your  horses,*'  said 
Tresler.  "I  tried  to  get  him,  but  he  had  too  much 
start  for  me.     I  was  on  foot," 

"W  .!!,  why  are  you  all  here?  Have  none  of  you 
sense  enough  to  get  after  him  ?  " 

''  Arizona  is  after  him,  and,  until  the  sheriff  comes, 
he  is  sufficient     He  will  never  leave  his  trail." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  significance  Tresler  con- 
veyed in  his  last  remark.  The  rancher  took  him  up 
sharply 


AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S  367 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  '* 

"Arizona  has  no  love  for  Anton.* 

"  Ah  !  And  Jake.  Who  found  him  ?  Who  was  there 
when  he  died  ?  " 

Marbolt's  eyes  had  fixed  themselves  on  Tresler's  face. 
And  the  latter  had  no  hesitation  in  suiting  his  reply  to 
his  own  purpose. 

"  I  found  him — dead  ;  quite  dead.  His  death  must 
have  been  instantaneous." 

"So." 

Marbolt  turned  back  to  the  bedc 

The  rancher  stood  over  the  dead  man  in  silence  for 
some  minutes.  Then,  to  Tresler's  horror,  he  broke  out 
into  a  low-voiced  lamentation,  the  hypocrisy  of  which 
made  him  want  to  seize  him  by  the  throat  and  choke 
the  w^ords  ere  they  were  uttered. 

"  My  poor  old  Jake ! "  he  said,  with  infinite  pity. 
"  Poor  old  Jake  ! "  he  repeated,  addressing  the  dead 
man  sorrowfully.  "  I  wish  now  Vd  taken  your  advice 
about  that  rascal  and  got  rid  of  him.  And  to  think 
that  you  should  be  the  man  on  whom  he  was  to  wreak 
his  treachery.  I  wonder  how  it  came  about.  It  must 
have  been  that  rough  temper  of  yours.  Tresler,"  he 
cried,  pointing  to  the  still  form  on  the  bed,  **  there  lies 
the  truest,  the  only  friend  I  ever  had.  That  man  has 
stood  by  me  when  all  others  left  me.  Yes,  we've 
fought  side  by  side  in  the  Indian  days ;  ay,  and  further 
back  still.  I  remember  when  he  would  have  defended 
me  with  his  life ;  poor  Jake !  I  suppose  he  had  his 
faults,  the  same  as  most  of  us  have.  Yes,  and  I  wager 
his  temper  took  him  foul  of  Anton.     Poor  old  Jake  f 


368  Tx4E  NIGHT-RIDERS 

I  suppose  we  shall  never  know  the  truth  of  this."  He 
paused.  Then  he  cried  fiercely,  "  Damn  it  I  Men,  every 
one  of  you,  I'll  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  the  one  who 
brings  Anton  back,  dead  or  alive.  Dead  from  prefer- 
ence, then  he  won't  escape  us.  A  thousand  dollars. 
Now,  who  ? " 

But  Tresler  could  stand  it  no  longer.  *'  Don't  trouble, 
Mr.  Marbolt,"  he  said  icily.  ''  It  is  no  use  your  offering 
rewards.  The  man  who  has  gone  after  Anton  will 
find  him.  And  you  can  rest  satisfied  he'll  take  noth- 
ing from  you  on  that  score.  You  may  not  know  Ari- 
zona ;  I  do." 

"You  are  confident,"  the  other  retorted,  resentful  at 
once. 

"  I  have  reason  to  be,"  came  the  decided  answer. 

Marbolt  shook  his  close-cropped  head.  His  resent- 
ment had  gone  from  his  manner  again.  He  had  few 
moods  which  he  was  unable  to  control  at  will.  That 
was  how  it  seemed  to  Tresler. 

*'  I  hope  truly  it  may  be  as  you  say.  But  I  must 
still  doubt.  However,"  he  went  on,  in  a  lighter  tone, 
**  in  the  meantime  there  is  work  to  be  done.  The  doc- 
tor must  be  summoned.  Send  some  one  for  doctor 
and  sheriff  first  thing  to-morrow  morning,  Tresler.  It 
is  no  use  worrying  them  to-night.  The  sheriff  has  his 
night  work  to  do,  and  wouldn't  thank  us  for  routing 
him  out  now.  Besides,  nothing  can  be  done  until  day- 
light !  And  the  doctor  is  only  needed  to  certify.  Poor 
old  Jake ! " 

He  turned  away  with  something  very  like  a  sigh. 
Half-way  to  the  door  he  paused. 


AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S  569 

*'  Tresler,  you  take  charge  of  things  to-night.  Have 
this  door  locked.  And,"  he  added,  with  redoubled 
earnestness,  '*  are  you  sure  Arizona  will  hunt  that  man 
down?" 

''  Perfecdy." 

Tresler  smiled  grimly.  He  fancied  he  understood 
the  persistence. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  the  stick 
tapped,  and  the  rancher  passed  out  under  the  curious 
gaze  of  his  men.  Tresler,  too,  looked  after  him.  Nor 
was  there  any  doubt  of  his  feelings  now.  He  knew 
that  his  presence  in  the  house  during  Marbolt's  mur- 
derous assault  on  Jake  was  unsuspected.  And  Mar- 
bolt,  villainous  hypocrite  that  he  was,  was  covering 
his  tracks.  He  loathed  the  blind  villain  as  he  never 
thought  to  have  loathed  anybody.  And  all  through 
his  thoughts  there  was  a  cold,  hard  vein  of  triumph 
which  was  utterly  foreign  to  his  nature,  but  which  was 
quite  in  keeping  with  his  feelings  toward  the  man  with 
whom  he  was  dealing. 

As  Julian  Marbolt  passed  out  the  men  kept  silence, 
and  even  when  the  distant  tapping  of  his  stick  had 
died  away.  Tresler  looked  round  him  at  these  hardy 
comrades  of  his  with  something  like  delight  in  his  eyes. 
Joe  was  not  there,  which  matter  gave  him  satisfaction. 
The  faithful  little  fellow  was  at  his  post  to  care  for 
Diane.     Now  he  turned  to  Harris. 

"  Raw,"  he  said,  "  will  you  ride  in  for  the  doctor?'' 

"  He  said  t'-morrer,"  the  man  objected. 

"  I  know.  But  if  you'd  care  to  do  me  a  favor  you'll 
ride  in  and  warn  the  doctor  to-night,  and  then — ride 


370  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

out  to  Widow  Dangley's  and  meet  us  all  there,  cached 
in  the  neighborhood." 

The  man  stared ;  every  man  in  that  room  was  in- 
stantly agog  with  interest.  Something  in  Tresler's  tone 
had  brought  a  light  to  their  eyes  which  he  was  glad  to 
see. 

''What  is  't?"  asked  Jacob,  eagerly. 

''Ay,"  protested  Raw;  "no  bluffin'." 

"  There's  no  bluffing  about  me,"  Tresler  said  quickly. 
"I'm  dead  in  earnest.  Here,  listen,  boys.  I  want  you 
all  to  go  out  quietly,  one  by  one.  It's  eight  miles  to 
Widow  Dangley's.  Arrange  to  get  there  by  half-past 
one  in  the  morning — and  don't  forget  your  gun& 
There's  a  big  bluff  adjoining  the  house,"  he  suggested 
significantly.  "  I  shall  be  along,  and  so  will  the  sherifi 
and  all  his  men.  I  think  there'll  be  a  racket,  and  we 
may — there,  I  can  tell  you  no  more.  I  refrained  from 
asking  Marbolt's  permission ;  you  remember  what  he  said 
once  before.     We'll  not  risk  saying  anything  to  him." 

"  I'm  in  to  the  limit,"  said  Raw,  with  decision. 

"  Guess  we  don't  want  no  limit  to  this  racket.  We'll 
jest  get  right  along,"  said  Jacob,  quietly. 

And  after  that  the  men  filed  out  one  by  one.  And 
when  the  last  had  gone,  Tresler  put  the  lamp  out  and 
locked  the  door.  Then  he  quietly  stole  up  to  the  kitchen 
and  peered  in  at  the  window.  Diane  was  there,  so  was 
Joe,  with  two  guns  hanging  to  his  belt.  He  had  little 
difficulty  in  drawing  their  attention.  There  was  no 
dalliance  about  his  visit  this  time.  He  waived  aside 
the  eager  questions  with  which  the  girl  assailed  him, 
and  merely  gave  her  a  quiet  warning. 


AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S  371 

"  Stay  up  all  night,  dear,"  he  said,  "  but  do  not  let 
your  father  know  it." 

To  Joe  he  said  :  *^  Joe,  if  you  sleep  a  wink  this  night 
I'll  never  forgive  you." 

Then  he  hurried  away,  satisfied  that  neither  would 
fail  him,  and  went  to  the  barn.  Without  a  word, 
almost  without  a  sound,  he  saddled  the  Lady  Jezebel. 

His  mare  ready,  he  went  and  gazed  long  and  ear- 
nestly up  at  the  rancher's  house.  He  was  speculating 
in  his  mind  as  to  the  risk  he  was  running.  Not  the 
general  risk,  but  the  risk  of  success  or  failure  in  his 
enterprise. 

He  waited  until  the  last  of  the  lights  had  gone  out, 
and  the  house  stood  out  a  mere  black  outline  in  the 
moonlight,  then  he  disappeared  within  the  barn  again, 
and  presently  reappeared  leading  his  fractious  mare. 
A  few  moments  later  he  rode  quietly  off.  And  the 
manner  of  his  going  brought  a  grim  smile  to  his  lips, 
for  he  thought  of  the  ghostly  movements  of  the  night- 
riders  as  he  had  witnessed  them.  His  w^ay  lay  in  a 
different  direction  from  that  of  his  comrades.  Instead  of 
taking  the  trail,  as  they  had  done,  he  skirted  the  upper 
corral  and  pastures,  and  plunged  into  the  black  pine- 
woods  behind  the  house. 


The  Widow  Dangley's  homestead  looked  much  more 
extensive  in  the  moonlight  than  it  really  was.  Every- 
thing was  shown  up,  endowed  with  a  curious  silvery 
burnish  which  dazzled  the  eyes  till  shadows  became 
magnified  into  buildings,  and  the  buildings  themselves 


372  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

distorted  out  of  all  proportion.  Hers  was  simply  a 
comfortable  place  and  quite  unpretentious. 

The  ranch  stood  in  a  narrow  valley,  in  the  midst  of 
^vhich  a  small  brook  gurgled  its  way  on  to  the  Mos- 
quito River,  about  four  miles  distant.  The  valley  was 
one  of  those  sharp  cuttings  in  which  the  prairie  abounds, 
quite  hidden  and  unmarked  from  the  land  above,  lying 
unsuspected  until  one  chances  directly  upon  it.  It  was 
much  like  a  furrow  of  Nature's  ploughing,  cut  out  to 
serve  as  a  drainage  for  the  surrounding  plains.  It 
wound  its  irregular  course  away  east  and  west,  a  maze 
of  undergrowth,  larger  bluff,  low  red-sand  cut-banks 
and  crumbling  gravel  clifTs,  all  scattered  by  a  prodigal 
hand,  with  a  profusion  that  seemed  wanton  amidst  the 
surrounding  wastes  of  grass-land. 

The  house  stood  on  the  northern  slope,  surrounded 
on  three  sides  by  a  protecting  bluff  of  pinewoods.  Then 
to  the  right  of  it  came  the  outbuildings,  and  last,  at 
least  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the  rest,  came 
the  corrals,  well  hidden  in  the  bluff,  instead,  as  is  usual, 
of  being  overlooked  by  the  house.  Certainly  Widow 
Dangley  was  a  confiding  person. 

And  so  Tresler,  comparatively  inexperienced  as  he 
was,  thought,  as  he  surveyed  the  prospect  in  the  moon- 
light from  the  back  of  his  mare.  He  was  accompanied 
by  Sheriff  Fyles,  and  the  two  men  were  estimating  the 
chances  they  were  likely  to  have  against  possible  in- 
vaders. 

"  How  goes  the  time  ?  "  asked  the  sheriff,  after  a  few 
moments'  silent  contemplation  of  the  scene. 

"  You've  half  an  hour  in  which  to  dispose  your  forces 


AT  WIDOW  D ANGLE Y'S  373 

Ah !  there's  one  of  your  fellows  riding  down  the  oppo- 
site bank."     Tresler  pointed  across  the  valley. 

"  Yes,  and  there's  another  lower  down,"  Fyles  ob- 
served quietly.  "  And  here's  one  dropping  down  to 
your  right.     All  on  time.     What  of  your  men  ?  " 

"  They  should  be  in  yonder  bluff,  backing  the  cor- 
rals." 

"How  many?" 

"  Four,  including  the  cook." 

*'  Four,  and  sixteen  of  mine — twenty.  Our  two  selves 
— twenty-two.     Good  ;  come  on." 

The  man  led  the  way  to  the  bluff.  The  cowboys 
were  all  there.  They  received  instructions  to  hold  the 
position  at  the  corrals  ;  to  defend  them,  or  to  act  as  re- 
inforcements if  the  struggle  should  take  place  elsewhere. 
Then  the  two  leaders  passed  on  down  into  the  valley. 
It  was  an  awkward  descent,  steep,  and  of  a  loose  sur- 
face that  shelved  under  their  horses'  feet.  For  the  mo- 
ment a  cloud  had  obscured  the  moon,  and  Fyles  looked 
up.  A  southwesterly  breeze  had  sprung  up,  and  there 
was  a  watery  look  about  the  sky. 

"  Good,"  he  said  again,  in  his  abrupt  manner. 
**  There  won't  be  too  much  moon.  Moonlight  is  not 
altogether  an  advantage  in  a  matter  of  this  sort.  We 
must  depend  chiefly  on  a  surprise.  We  don't  want  too 
many  empty  saddles." 

At  the  bottom  of  the  valley  they  found  the  rest  of  the 
men  gathered  together  in  the  shelter  of  the  scattered 
undergrowth.  It  was  Fyles's  whole  command.  He 
proceeded  at  once  to  divide  them  up  into  tw^o  parties. 
One  he  stationed  east  of  the  ranch,  spHt  into  a  sort  of 


Sf4  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

skirmishing  order,  to  act  under  Tresler's  charge.  The 
other  party  he  took  for  his  own  command,  selecting  an 
advantageous  position  to  the  west.  He  had  also  estab- 
lished a  code  of  signals  to  be  used  on  the  approach  of 
the  enemy  ;  these  took  the  form  of  the  cr}^  of  the  screech- 
owl.  Thus,  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  their  arrival, 
all  was  in  readiness  for  the  raiders,  and  the  valley  once 
more  returned  to  its  native  quiet. 

And  how  quiet  and  still  it  all  was  1  The  time  2  rapt 
on  toward  the  appointed  hour.  The  moon  was  still  high 
in  the  heavens,  but  its  light  had  grown  more  and  more 
uncertain.  The  clouds  had  become  dense  to  a  stormy 
extent.  Now  and  then  the  rippling  waters  of  the  brook 
caught  and  reflected  for  a  moment  a  passing  shaft  of 
light,  like  a  silvery  rift  in  the  midst  of  the  valley,  but 
otherwise  all  was  shadow\  And  in  the  occasional 
moonlight  every  tree  and  bush  and  boulder  w^as  mag- 
nified into  some  w-eird,  spectral  shape,  distorting  it  from 
plain  truth  into  some  grotesque  fiction,  turning  the 
humblest  grow^th  into  anything  from  a  grazing  steer 
to  a  moving  vehicle  ;  from  a  prowling  coyote  to  a  log 
hut.  The  music  of  the  waking  night-world  droned  on 
the  scented  air,  emphasizing  the  calm,  the  delicious 
peace.  It  was  like  some  fairy  kingdom  swept  by  strains 
of  undefined  music  w^hich  haunted  the  ear  without  mon- 
otony, and  peopled  with  shadows  which  the  imagina- 
tion could  mould  at  its  pleasure. 

But  in  the  eagerness  of  the  moment  all  this  was  lost 
to  the  waiting  men.  To  them  it  was  a  possible  battle- 
ground ;  with  a  view  to  cover,  it  w^as  a  strategic  position, 
and  they  were  satisfied  with  it.     The  cattle,  turned  loose 


AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S  375 

from  the  corrals,  must  pass  up  or  down  the  valley  ; 
similarly,  any  number  of  men  must  approach  from  one 
of  these  two  directions,  which  meant  that  the  ambush 
could  not  be  avoided. 

At  last  the  warning  signal  came.  An  owl  hooted 
from  somewhere  up  the  valley,  the  cry  rising  in  weird 
cadence  and  dying  away  lingeringly.  And,  at  the  same 
time,  there  came  the  sound  of  a  distant  rumble,  like  the 
steady  drone  of  machinery  at  some  far-off  point.  Tres- 
ler  at  once  gave  up  his  watch  on  the  east  and  centred 
all  attention  upon  the  west.  One  of  his  own  men  had 
answered  the  owl's  cry,  and  a  third  screech  came  from 
the  guard  at  the  corrals. 

The  rumble  grew  louder.  There  were  no  moving 
objects  visible  yet,  but  the  growing  sound  was  less  of  a 
murmur ;  it  was  more  detached,  and  the  straining  ears 
distinctly  made  out  the  clatter  of  hoofs  evidently  trav- 
eling fast  down  the  valley  trail.  On  they  came,  stead- 
ily hammering  out  their  measure  with  crisp  precision. 
It  was  a  moment  of  tense  excitement  for  those  awaiting 
the  approach.  But  only  a  moment,  although  the  sen- 
sation lasted  longer.  The  moon  suddenly  brought  the 
whole  thing  into  reality.  Suspense  was  banished  with 
its  revealing  light,  and  each  man,  steady  at  his  post, 
gripped  his  carbine  or  revolver,  ready  to  pour  in  a 
deadly  fire  the  moment  the  word  should  be  given.  A 
troop  of  about  eighteen  horsemen  dashed  round  a  bend 
of  the  valley  and  plunged  into  the  ambush. 

Instantly  Fyles's  voice  rang  out.  ''  Halt,  or  we  fire  ! " 
he  cried. 

The  horsemen  drew  rein  at  once,  but  the  reply  was 


376  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

a  pistol-s!iot  in  the  direction  whence  his  voice  had 
sounded.  The  defiance  was  Tresler's  signal.  He 
passed  the  word  to  his  men,  and  a  volley  of  carbine-fire 
rang  out  at  once,  and  confusion  in  the  ranks  of  the 
horsemen  followed  immediately. 

Then  the  battle  began  in  deadly  earnest.  The  sher- 
iff's men  leapt  into  their  saddles,  and  advanced  both 
in  front  and  in  rear  of  the  trapped  raiders.  And  the 
cowpunchers  came  racing  down  from  the  corrals  to  hurl 
themselves  into  the  ^nelke^  whooping  and  yelling,  as 
only  men  of  their  craft  can. 

The  fight  waxed  furious,  but  the  odds  were  in  favor 
of  the  ambush.  The  clouded  sky  lent  neither  side  much 
assistance.  Now  and  again  the  peeping  moon  looked 
down  upon  the  scene  as  though  half  afraid  to  show  it- 
self, and  it  was  by  those  fleeting  rays  that  the  sheriff's 
men  leveled  their  carbines  and  poured  in  their  deadly 
fire.  But  the  raiders  were  no  mean  foe.  They  fought 
desperately,  and  were  masters  in  the  use  of  their 
weapons.  Their  confusion  of  the  first  moment  passed 
instantly,  and  they  rode  straight  at  Tresler's  line  of  de- 
fense with  a  determination  that  threatened  to  over- 
whelm it  and  force  a  passage.  But  the  coming  of  the 
cowpunchers  stemmed  the  tide  and  hurled  them  back 
on  Fyles's  force  in  their  rear.  Several  riderless  horses 
escaped  in  the  rnelee;  nor  were  they  only  belonging  to 
the  raiders.  One  of  the  "  deputies  "  had  dropped  from 
his  saddle  right  beside  Tresler,  and  there  was  no  telling, 
in  the  darkness,  how  many  others  had  met  with  a  similar 
fate.  Red  Mask's  gang  had  been  fairly  trapped,  and 
both  sides  meant  to  fight  to  a  finish. 


AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S  37? 

All  this  time  both  Tresler  and  Fyles  were  looking  out 
for  the  leader,  the  man  of  all  whom  they  desired  to  cap- 
ture. But  the  darkness,  which  had  favored  the  ambus- 
cade, now  defeated  their  object.  In  the  mob  of  strug- 
gling humanity  it  was  difficult  enough  to  distinguish 
friend  from  fo^,  let  alone  to  discover  any  one  person. 
The  ranks  of  the  "  deputies  "  had  closed  right  in  and  a 
desperate  hand-to-hand  struggle  was  going  on. 

Tresler  was  caught  in  the  midst  of  the  tide,  his  crazy 
mare  had  carried  him  there  whether  he  would  or  no ; 
but  if  she  had  carried  him  thus  into  deadly  peril,  she 
was  also  ready  to  fight  for  him.  She  laid  about  her 
royally,  swept  on,  and  reared  plunging  at  every  ob- 
struction to  her  progress,  her  master  thus  escaping 
many  a  shot,  if  it  left  him  able  to  do  little  better  than 
fire  at  random  himself.  In  this  frantic  fashion  the  mad- 
dened creature  tore  her  way  through  the  thick  of  the 
fight,  and  her  rider  was  borne  clear  to  the  further  out- 
skirts. Then  she  tried  to  get  away  with  him,  but  in 
the  nick  of  time,  before  her  strong  teeth  had  fixed  them- 
selves on  the  bit,  he  managed  to  head  her  once  again 
for  the  struggling  mass. 

With  furious  recklessness  she  charged  forward,  and, 
as  bad  luck  would  have  it,  her  wild  career  brought 
about  the  worst  thing  possible.  She  cannoned  vio- 
lently into  the  sheriff's  charger,  while  its  rider  was  in 
the  act  of  leveling  his  revolver  at  the  head  of  a  man 
wearing  a  red  mask.  The  impact  was  within  an  ace  of 
bringing  both  horses  and  riders  to  the  ground.  The 
mare  was  flung  on  her  haunches,  while  Fyles,  cursing 
bitterly,  clung  desperately  to  his  saddle  to  retain  his 


3/8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

seat.  But  his  aim  was  lost,  and  his  shot  narrowly 
missed  his  horse's  head  ;  and,  before  either  he  or  Tres- 
ler  had  recovered  himself,  the  red  masked  man  had 
vanished  into  the  darkness,  heading  for  the  perilous 
ascent  of  the  valley  side. 

Terrified  out  of  her  life  the  Lady  Jezebel  turned 
swinging  round  on  her  haunches,  and  charged  down 
the  valley ;  and  as  she  went  Tresler  had  the  question- 
able satisfaction  of  seeing  the  sheriff  detach  himself 
from  the  mob  and  gallop  in  pursuit  of  the  raider. 

His  own  blood  was  up  now,  and  though  the  mare 
had  got  the  bit  in  her  teeth  he  fought  her  with  a  fury 
equal  to  her  own.  He  knew  she  was  mistress  of  the 
situation,  but  he  simply  would  not  give  in.  He  would 
kill  her  rather  than  she  should  get  away  with  him  this 
time.  And  so,  as  nothing  else  had  any  effect  on  her, 
he  snatched  a  pistol  from  its  holster  and  leant  over 
and  pounded  the  side  of  her  head  with  the  butt  of  it  in 
a  wild  attempt  to  turn  her.  At  first  she  gave  not  the 
smallest  heed  to  his  blows  ;  such  was  her  madness. 
But  presently  she  flinched  under  them  and  turned  her 
head  away,  and  her  body  responded  to  the  movement. 
In  another  moment  he  had  her  round,  and  as  she  faced 
the  side  of  the  valley  where  the  raider  had  disappeared, 
he  slashed  her  cruelly  with  his  spurs.  In  a  moment 
the  noise  of  the  battle  was  left  behind  him,  and  the 
mare,  with  cat-like  leaps,  was  breasting  the  ascent. 

And  Tresler  only  thought  of  the  man  he  was  in 
pursuit  of.  His  own  neck  or  the  neck  of  his  mare 
mattered  nothing  to  him  then.  Through  him,  or 
through  the  mare,  they  had  lost  Red  Mask.     He  must 


AT  WIDOW  DANGLEY'S  379 

rectify  the  fault.  He  had  no  idea  how.  His  brain  was 
capable  of  only  one  thought — pursuit ;  and  he  thanked 
his  stars  for  the  sure-footed  beast  under  him.  Nothing 
stopped  her ;  she  lifted  to  every  obstruction.  A  cut- 
bank  had  no  terrors  for  her,  she  simply  charged  it  with 
her  great,  strong  hoofs  till  the  gravel  and  sand  poured 
away  under  them  and  left  her  a  foothold.  Bushes 
were  trampled  down  or  plunged  through.  Blindly  she 
raced  for  the  top,  at  an  angle  that  made  her  rider  cling 
to  the  horn  of  his  saddle  to  keep  himself  from  sliding 
off  over  the  cantle. 

They  passed  Fyles  struggling  laboriously  to  reach 
the  top.  The  Lady  Jezebel  seemed  to  shoot  past  him 
and  leave  him  standing.  And  as  he  went  Tresler 
called  out  — 

'*  How  much  start  has  he  ? '' 

**  He's  topping  it  now,"  the  sheriff  replied. 

And  the  answer  fired  Tresler's  excitement  so  that  he 
again  rammed  both  spurs  into  the  mare's  flanks.  The 
top  of  the  hill  loomed  up  against  the  sky.  A  thick 
fringe  of  bush  confronted  them.  Head  down,  nose 
almost  touching  the  ground,  the  mad  animal  plunged 
into  it.  Her  rider  barely  had  time  to  lie  down  in  his 
saddle  and  cling  to  her  neck.  His  thoughts  were  in  a 
sort  of  mental  whirlpool  and  he  hardly  realized  what 
had  happened,  when,  the  next  moment,  the  frenzied 
demon  under  him  plunged  out  on  to  the  open  prairie. 

She  made  no  pause  or  hesitation,  but  like  a  shot 
from  a  gun  swept  on  straight  as  the  crow  flies,  her  nose 
alone  guiding  her.  She  still  held  the  bit  in  her  jaws  ; 
her  frolic  had  only  just  begun.     Tresler  looked  ahead 


38o  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

and  scanned  the  sky-line,  but  the  darkness  obscured 
all  signs  of  his  quarry. 

He  had  just  made  up  his  mind  to  trust  to  chance 
and  the  captious  mood  of  his  mare  when  the  moon, 
crossing  a  rift  in  the  clouds,  gave  him  a  sort  of  flash- 
light view  of  the  horizon.  It  only  lasted  a  few  seconds, 
but  it  lasted  long  enough  for  him  to  detect  a  horseman 
heading  for  the  Mosquito  River,  away  to  the  rights 
with  a  start  that  looked  like  something  over  a  mile. 
His  heart  sank  at  the  prospect.  But  the  next  instant 
hope  bounded  within  him,  for  the  mare  swung  round 
of  her  own  accord  and  stretched  herself  for  the  race. 

He  understood.  She  had  recognized  the  possibility 
of  company  ;  and  few  horses,  whatever  their  temper, 
can  resist  that. 

He  leaned  over  and  patted  her  shoulder,  easing  her 
of  his  weight  like  a  jockey. 

"  Now,  you  she-devil,"  he  murmured  affectionately, 
**  behave  yourself  for  once,  and  go — go  like  the  fiend 
you  are  I  ** 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  PURSUIT  OF  RED  MASK 

A  MILE  Start ;  it  would  seem  an  impossible  advan- 
tage. Even  with  a  far  better  horse  in  pursuit,  how 
many  miles  must  be  covered  before  that  distance  could 
be  made  up  ?  Could  the  lost  ground  be  regained  in 
eight  miles  ?  It  looked  to  be  out  of  the  question  even 
to  Tresler,  hopeful  of  his  mare  as  he  was,  and  knowing 
her  remarkable  turn  of  speed.  Yet  such  proved  to  be 
the  case.  Eight  miles  saw  him  so  close  on  the  heels 
of  the  raider  that  there  was  nothing  left  for  the  fugitive 
but  to  keep  on. 

He  felt  no  surprise  that  they  were  traversing  the 
river  trail.  He  even  thought  he  knew  how  he  could 
head  his  man  off  by  a  short  cut.  But  this  would  not 
serve  his  purpose.  He  wanted  to  get  him  red-handed, 
and  to  leave  him  now  would  be  to  give  him  a  chance 
that  he  was  confident  would  be  taken  advantage  of  at 
once.  The  river  trail  led  to  the  ranch.  And  the  only 
branches  anywhere  along  its  route  were  those  running 
north  and  south  at  the  ford. 

Steadily  he  closed  up,  foot  by  foot,  yard  by  yard. 
Sometimes  he  saw  his  quarry,  sometimes  he  was  only 
guided  by  the  beat  of  the  speeding  hoofs.  Now  that 
he  was  urging  her,  the  Lady  Jezebel  had  relinquished 
the  bit,  not  only  willing,  but  bursting  to  do  better  than 


382  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

her  best.  No  rider  could  resist  such  an  appeal.  And 
as  they  went  Tresler  found  himself  talking  to  her  with 
an  affection  that  would  have  sounded  ridiculous  to  any 
but  a  horseman.  It  made  him  smile  to  see  her  ears 
laid  back,  not  in  the  manner  of  a  horse  putting  forth 
its  last  efforts,  but  with  that  vicious  air  she  always  had, 
as  though  she  were  running  open-mouthed  at  Jacob 
Smith,  as  he  had  seen  her  do  in  the  corral  on  his  intro- 
duction to  her. 

When  they  came  to  the  river  ford  he  was  a  bare 
hundred  yards  in  the  wake  of  his  man.  Here  the  road 
turned  off  for  the  ranch,  and  the  trees  met  overhead 
and  shut  out  the  light  of  the  moon.  It  was  pitch 
black,  and  he  was  only  guided  by  the  sound  of  the 
other  horse  in  front.  Abreast  of  the  ford  he  became 
aware  that  this  sound  had  abruptly  died  out,  and  at  the 
bend  of  the  trail  he  pulled  up  and  listened  acutely. 
They  stood  thus,  the  mare's  great  body  heaving  under 
him,  until  her  rider  caught  the  faint  sound  of  breaking 
bush  somewhere  directly  ahead  of  them. 

Instantly  recollection  came  to  his  help,  and  he 
laughed  as  he  turned  the  mare  off  the  trail  and  plunged 
into  the  scrub.  It  was  the  spot  where,  once  before,  he 
had  taken,  unwillingly,  to  the  bush.  There  was  no 
hesitation,  no  uncertainty.  They  raced  through  the 
tangle,  and  threaded  their  way  on  to  the  disused  trail 
they  had  both  traveled  before. 

The  fugitive  had  gained  considerably  now,  and 
Tresler,  for  the  first  time  since  the  race  had  begun, 
asked  his  mare  for  more  pace.  She  simply  shook  her 
head,  snorted,  and  swished  her  tail,  as  though  protest 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  RED  MASK  383 

ing  that  the  blow  was  unnecessary.  She  could  not  do 
the  impossible,  and  that  he  was  asking  of  her.  But 
his  forcible  request  w^as  the  nervous  result  of  his 
knowledge  that  the  last  lap  of  the  race  had  been  en- 
tered upon  and  the  home  stretch  was  not  far  off.  It 
must  be  now  or  never. 

He  soon  realized  that  the  remaining  distance  was  all 
too  short.  As  he  came  to  the  place  where  the  forest 
abruptly  terminated,  he  saw  that  day  had  broken. 
The  gray  light  showed  him  to  be  still  thirty  yards  or  so 
behind. 

They  had  reached  the  broken  lands  he  remembered 
so  well.  Before  him  stretched  the  plateau  leading  to 
the  convergence  of  the  river  and  the  cliff.  It  was  the 
sight  of  this  which  gave  him  an  inspiration.  He  re- 
membered the  branching  trail  to  the  bridge,  also  the 
wide  sweep  it  took,  as  compared  with  the  way  he  had 
first  come.  To  leap  the  river  would  gain  him  fifty 
yards.  But  in  that  light  it  was  a  risk — a  grave  risk. 
He  hesitated.  Annoyed  at  his  own  indecision,  he  de- 
termined to  risk  everything  on  one  throw.  The  other 
horse  was  distinctly  lagging.  He  reached  down  and 
patted  his  mare's  neck.  And  that  simple  action  re- 
stored his  confidence  ;  he  felt  that  she  was  still  on  top 
of  her  work.     The  river  would  have  no  terrors  for  her. 

He  saw  the  masked  man  turn  off  for  the  bridge,  but 
he  held  straight  on.  He  gave  another  anxious  look  at 
the  sky.  The  dull  gray  was  still  unbroken  by  any 
flush  of  sunrise,  but  it  was  lighter,  certainly.  The  mask 
of  clouds  was  breaking,  though  it  still  contrived  to  keep 
daylight  in  abeyance.     He  had  no  option  but  to  settle 


384  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

himself  in  the  saddle  for  the  great  eflort.  Light  or  no 
light,  he  could  not  turn  back  now. 

And  for  the  while  he  forgot  the  fugitive.  His  mind 
centred  on  the  river  ahead,  and  the  moment  when  his 
hand  must  lend  the  mare  that  aid,  without  which  he 
could  not  hope,  after  her  great  journey,  to  win  the  far 
bank.  His  nerve  was  steady,  and  his  eyes  never  more 
alert.  Everything  was  distinct  enough  about  him. 
The  bushes  fiying  by  were  clearly  outlined  now,  and  he 
fancied  he  could  already  see  the  river's  line  of  demarka- 
tion.  On  they  raced,  he  leaning  well  forward,  she  v.ith 
her  ears  pricked,  attentive  to  the  murmurs  of  the  water 
already  so  near.  Unconsciously  his  knees  gripped  the 
leggaderos  of  his  saddle  wnth  all  the  power  he  could 
put  into  the  pressure,  and  his  body  was  bent  crouch- 
ing, as  though  he  were  about  to  make  the  spring  him- 
self. 

And  the  moment  came.  He  spurred  and  lifted  ;  and 
the  game  beast  shot  forward  like  a  rocket.  A  moment, 
and  she  landed.  But  the  half  lights  must  have  de- 
ceived her.  She  had  jumped  further  than  before,  and, 
crashing  into  a  boulder  with  her  two  fore  feet,  she 
turned  a  complete  somersault,  and  fell  headlong  to  the 
ground,  hurling  her  rider  yards  out  of  the  saddle  into 
the  soft  loose  sand  of  the  trail  beyond. 

Quite  unhurt,  Tresler  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 
But  the  mare  lay  still  where  she  had  fallen.  A  hopeless 
feeling  of  regret  swept  over  the  man  as  he  turned  and 
beheld  her.  He  saw  the  masked  rider  dash  at  the  hill- 
side on  his  weary  horse,  not  twenty  yards  from  him,  but 
he  gave  him  no  heed. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  RED  MASK  3*5 

It  needed  no  look  into  the  mare's  glazing  eyes  to  tell 
him  what  he  had  done.  He  had  killed  her.  The  first 
really  honest  act  of  her  life  had  led  to  the  unfortunate 
creature's  own  undoing.  Her  lean  ewe  neck  was 
broken,  as  were  both  her  forelegs. 

The  moment  he  had  ascertained  the  truth  he  left  her, 
and,  looking  up  at  the  hill,  saw  that  it  was  high  time. 
The  rider  had  vanished,  but  his  jaded  horse  was  stand- 
ing half-way  up  the  hillside  in  the  mire  of  loose  sand. 
It  was  either  too  frightened  or  too  weary  to  move,  and 
stood  there  knee-deep,  a  picture  of  dejection. 

The  task  of  mounting  to  the  ledge  was  no  light  one, 
but  Tresler  faced  it  without  a  second  thought.  The 
other  had  only  something  less  than  a  minute's  start  of 
him,  and  as  there  was  only  one  other  exit  to  the  place 
— and  that,  he  remembered,  of  a  very  unpromising- 
nature — he  had  few  fears  of  the  man's  ultimate  escape. 
No,  there  was  no  escape  for  him  ;  and  besides — a  smile 
lit  up  the  hard  set  of  his  features  at  the  thought — day- 
light had  really  come.  The  clouds  had  at  last  given 
way  before  the  rosy  herald  of  sunrise. 

The  last  of  the  ascent  was  accompHshed,  and,  breath- 
ing hard,  Tresler  stepped  on  to  the  gravel-strewn 
plateau,  gun  in  hand.  He  felt  glad  of  his  five-cham- 
bered companion.  Those  rough  friends  of  his  on  the 
ranch  were  right.  There  was  nothing  so  compelling, 
nothing  so  arbitrary,  nor  so  reassuring  to  the  possessor 
and  confounding  to  his  enemies,  as  a  gun  well  handled. 

The  ledge  was  empty.  He  looked  at  the  towering 
cliff,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  his  man  in  that  direction. 
He  moved  toward  the  hut,  but  at  the  first  step  the  door 


386  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

of  the  dugout  was  flung  wide,  and  Julian  Marbolt,  gun 
in  hand,  dashed  out. 

He  came  with  a  rush,  without  hesitation,  confidently  ; 
but  as  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  the  flood  of  day- 
light shone  down  upon  him,  he  fell  back  with  a  bitter 
cry  of  despair,  and  Tresler  knew  that  he  had  not 
reckoned  on  the  change  from  comparative  darkness  to 
daylight.  He  needed  no  further  proof  of  what  he  had 
come  to  suspect.  The  rancher  was  only  blind  in  the 
presence  of  strong  light  I 

For  a  second  only  he  stood  cowering  back,  then,  feel- 
ing his  way,  he  darted  with  miraculous  rapidity  round 
the  side  of  the  building,  and  scrambled  toward  the  dizzy 
staircase  in  the  rock. 

Tresler  challenged  him  at  once,  but  he  paid  no  heed. 
He  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  and  was  climb- 
ing  for  life  and  liberty.  The  other  knew  that  he  ought 
to  have  opened  fire  on  him,  but  the  old  desire  to  trust 
to  his  hands  and  bodily  strength  overcame  his  better 
judgment,  and  he  ran  at  him.  His  impulse  was 
humane  but  futile,  for  the  man  was  ascending  with 
marvelous  rapidity,  and  by  the  time  he  had  reached 
the  foot  of  the  ladder,  was  beyond  his  reach. 

There  was  nothing  left  now  but  to  use  his  gun  or  to 
follow.  One  look  at  the  terrific  ascent,  however,  left 
him  no  choice. 

"  Go  on,  and  I'll  drop  you,  Julian  Marbolt !  "  he 
shouted.     "  I've  five  chambers  loaded  in  each  gun." 

For  response,  the  blind  man  increased  his  exertions. 
On  he  went,  up,  up,  till  it  made  the  man  below  dizzy 
to  watch  him.     Tresler  raised  his  gun  and  fired  wide, 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  RED  MASK  387 

letting  the  bullet  strike  the  rock  close  to  the  man's 
rieht  hand  to  convince  him  of  his  intentions.  He  saw 
the  limestone  splinter  as  the  bullet  hit  it,  while  the 
clutching,  groping  hand  slid  higher  for  a  fresh  hold  ; 
but  it  had  no  other  effect. 

He  was  at  a  loss.  If  the  man  reached  the  top,  he 
knew  that  somewhere  over  the  brink  lay  a  road  to  safety. 
And  he  was  nearing  it ;  nearing  it  foot  by  foot  with  hi? 
crawling,  clinging  clutch  upon  the  face  of  rock.  He 
shuddered  as  he  watched,  fascinated  even  against  him- 
self. Deprived  of  sight,  the  man's  whole  body  seemed 
alert  with  an  instinct  that  served  him  in  its  stead.  His 
movements  were  like  those  of  some  cuttlefish,  reaching 
out  blindly  with  its  long  feelers  and  drawing  itself  up 
by  the  power  of  its  tentacles. 

He  shouted  a  last  warning.  '*  Your  last  chance  ! " 
he  cried ;  and  now  his  aim  was  true,  and  his  purpose 
inflexible. 

The  only  answer  was  a  hurried  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  climbing  man. 

Tresler's  finger  was  on  the  trigger,  while  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on  his  mark.  But  the  hammer  did  not  fall ; 
the  final  compression  of  the  hand  was  stayed,  while 
horror  leapt  into  the  eyes  so  keenly  looking  over  the 
sight.  Something  had  happened  up  there  on  the  face 
of  the  cliff.  The  man  had  slipped  I  One  foot  shot  out 
helplessly,  as  the  frantic  climber  struggled  for  those 
last  few  steps  before  the  shot  came.  He  wildly  sought 
to  recover  himself,  but  the  fatal  jolt  carried  the  weight 
of  his  body  with  it,  and  wrenched  the  other  foot  from 
its  hold.     For  the  fraction  of  a  second  the  man  below 


^FS  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

became  aware  of  the  clinging  hands,  as  they  desperately 
held  to  the  rock,  and  then  he  dropped  his  gun  and 
clapped  his  hands  over  his  ears  as  a  piercing  shriek 
rang  out.  He  could  not  witness  any  more.  He  only 
heard,  in  spite  of  his  stopped  ears,  the  lumping  of  a  soft 
body  falling  ;  he  saw,  though  his  eyes  were  closed  al- 
most on  the  instant,  a  huddled  figure  pitch  dully  upon 
the  edge  of  the  plateau  and  disappear  below.  It  all 
passed  in  a  flash. 

Then  silence  reigned.  And  when  he  opened  his 
eyes  there  was  no  horrible  sight,  nothing  seemed  to 
have  been  disturbed.  It  had  gone  ;  no  trace  was  left, 
not  a  tatter  of  cloth,  not  a  spot  of  blood,  nothing. 

He  knew.  His  imaginary  vision  of  the  old-time 
trapper  had  been  enacted  before  his  very  eyes.  All 
that  remained  of  Julian  Marbolt  was  lying — down 
there. 

****** 

Fyles  and  Tresler  were  standing  in  the  valley  below. 
They  were  gazing  on  the  mangled  remains  of  the 
rancher.  Fyles  had  removed  the  piece  of  red  blanket 
from  the  dead  man's  face,  and  held  it  up  for  inspection. 

"  Um  1 "  he  grunted.     **  The  game's  played  out." 

"  There's  more  of  that  up  there  in  the  hut,"  said 
Tresler. 

"Breed  blanket,"  commented  Fyles,  folding  it  up 
and  carefully  bestowing  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he 
turned  and  gazed  down  the  yawning  valley.  It  was  a 
w^onderful  place,  a  mighty  rift  extending  for  miles  into 
the  heart  of  the  mountains.  "  A  nice  game,  too,"  he 
went  on  presently.     "  Ever  seen  this  place  before  ?  '* 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  RED  MASK  3^9 

"  Once,"  Tresler  replied.  Then  he  told  the  office) 
of  his  runaway  ride. 

Fyles  listened  with  interest.  At  the  conclusion  he 
said,  "  Pity  you  didn't  tell  me  of  this  before.  How- 
ever, you  missed  the  chief  interest.  Look  away  down 
there  in  the  shelter  of  the  clifT.  See— about  a  mile 
down.  Corrals  enough  to  shepherd  ten  thousand 
head.     And  they  are  cunningly  disposed." 

Tresler  now  became  aware  of  a  scattered  array  of 
corrals,  stretching  away  out  into  the  distance,  but  so 
arranged  at  the  foot  of  the  towering  walls  of  the  valley 
that  they  needed  looking  for  closely. 

Then  he  looked  up  at  the  ledge  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  the  disaster,  and  the  ladder  of  hewn  steps 
above,  and  he  pointed  at  them. 

**  I  wonder  what's  on  the  other  side  ?  " 

"That's  an  easy  one,"  replied  his  companion 
promptly.     ''  Half-breeds." 

*'  A  settlement  ?  " 

"  That's  about  it.  You  remember  the  Breeds  cleared 
away  from  their  old  settlement  lately.  We've  never 
found  them.  Once  they  take  to  the  hills,  it's  like  a 
needle  in  a  haystack.  Maybe  friend  Anton  is  in  hiding 
there." 

"  I  doubt  it.  *  Tough '  McCulloch  didn't  belong  to 
them,  as  I  told  you.  He  comes  from  over  the  border. 
No ;  he's  getting  away  as  fast  as  his  horse  can  carry 
him.  And  Arizona  isn't  far  ofi  his  trail,  if  I'm  any 
judge." 

Fyles's  great  round  face  was  turned  contemplatively 
on  his  companion. 


390  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

"  Well,  that's  for  the  future,  anyhow,"  he  observed, 
and  moved  to  a  bush  some  yards  away.  "  Let's  take 
it  easy.  Money,  one  of  my  deputies,  has  gone  in  for  a 
wagon.  I  don't  expect  him  for  a  couple  of  hours  or 
so.  We  must  keep  it  company,"  he  added,  nodding 
his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  dead  man. 

They  sat  down  and  silently  lit  their  pipes.  Fyles  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

*'  Guess  I've  got  to  thank  you,"  he  said,  as  though 
that  sort  of  thing  was  quite  out  of  his  province. 

Tresler  shook  his  head.  '*  Not  me,"  he  said. 
*'  Thank  my  poor  mare."  Then  he  added,  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  *' Why,  but  for  the  accident  of  his  fall,  I'm  not 
sure  he  wouldn't  have  escaped.  I'm  pretty  weak- 
kneed  when  it  comes  to  dropping  a  man  in  cold  blood." 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

''  No  ;  he  wouldn't  have  escaped.  You  underesti- 
mate yourself.  But  even  if  you  had  missed  I  had  him 
covered  with  my  carbine.  I  was  watching  the  whole 
thing  down  here.  You  see.  Money  and  I  came  on  be- 
hind. I  don't  suppose  we  were  more  than  a  few  min- 
utes after  you.  That  mare  you  were  riding  was  a 
dandy.     I  see  she's  done." 

*'Yes,"  Tresler  said  sorrowfully.  ''And  I'm  not 
ashamed  to  say  it's  hit  me  hard.  She  did  us  a  good 
turn." 

"  And  she  owed  it  to  us." 

''  You  mean  when  she  upset  everything  during  the 
fight?" 

''  Yes." 

*'  Well,  she's  more  than  made  amends.     In  spite  of 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  RED  MASK  391 

her  temper,  that  mare  of  mine  was  the  finest  thing  on 
the  ranch," 

"  Yours?"    Fyles  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Well— Marbolt's." 

But  the  officer  shook  his  head.  *'  Nor  Marboh's. 
She  belonged  to  me.  Three  years  ago  I  turned  her  out 
to  graze  at  Whitewater  with  a  bunch  of  others,  as  an  in- 
corrigible rogue  and  vagabond.  The  whole  lot  were 
stolen  and  one  of  the  guard  shot.  Her  name  was 
*  Strike  'em.'  " 

"Strike  'em  ?" 

"  Yes.  Ever  have  her  come  at  you  with  both  front 
feet,  and  her  mouth  open  ?  " 

Tresler  nodded. 

"  That's  it.     '  Strike  'em.'     Fine  mare— half  blood." 

**  But  Marbolt  told  Jake  he  bought  her  from  a  half- 
breed  outfit." 

*'  Dare  say  he  did." 

Fyles  relit  his  pipe  for  about  the  twentieth  time, 
which  caused  Tresler  to  hand  him  his  pouch. 

"  Try  tobacco,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

The  sheriff  accepted  the  invitation  with  unruffled 
composure.  The  gentle  sarcasm  passed  quite  un- 
heeded. Probably  the  man  was  too  intent  on  the  busi- 
ness of  the  moment,  for  he  went  on  as  though  no 
interruption  had  occurred. 

"  After  seeing  you  on  that  mare  I  found  the  ranch 
interesting.  But  the  man's  blindness  fooled  me  right 
along.  I  had  no  trouble  in  ascertaining  that  Jake  had 
nothing  to  do  with  things.  Also  I  w^as  assured  that 
none  of  the  '  hands  '  v^^ere  playing  the  game.     Anton 


392  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

was  the  man  for  me.  But  soon  I  discovered  that  he 
was  not  the  actual  leader.  So  far,  good.  There  was 
only  Marbolt  left ;  but  he  was  blind.  Last  night,  when 
you  came  for  me,  and  told  me  what  had  happened 
at  the  ranch,  and  about  the  lighted  lamp,  I  tumbled. 
But  even  so  I  still  failed  to  understand  all.  The  man 
was  blind  in  daylight,  and  could  see  in  darkness  or 
half-light.  Now,  what  the  deuce  sort  of  blind  disease 
is  that  ?  And  he  seems  to  have  kept  the  secret,  acting 
the  blind  man  at  all  times.  It  was  clever — devilish 
clever." 

Tresler  nodded.  *'  Yes ;  he  fooled  us  all,  even  his 
daughter." 

The  other  shot  a  quick  glance  from  out  of  the  corners 
of  his  eyes. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  observed,  and  waited. 

They  smoked  in  silence. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  next?"  asked  Tresler, 
as  the  other  showed  no  disposition  to  speak. 

The  man  shrugged.  "  Take  possession  of  the  ranch. 
Just  keep  the  hands  to  run  it.  The  lady  had  better  go 
into  Forks  if  she  has  any  friends  there.  You  might 
see  to  that.  I  understand  that  you  are — gossip,  you 
know." 

'^  Yes." 

"  There'll  be  inquiries  and  formalities.  The  property 
I  don't  know  about.  That  will  be  settled  by  the  gov- 
ernment." 

Tresler  became  thoughtful.  Suddenly  he  turned  to 
his  companion. 

**  Sheriff,"    he  said   earnestly,  *'  I   hope  you'll  spare 


THE  PURSUIT  03^  \IED  MASK  393 

Miss  Marbolt  all  you  can.  She  has  lived  a  terribly 
unhappy  life  with  him.  I  can  assure  you  she  has 
known  nothing  of  this — nothing  of  the  strange  blind- 
ness.    I  w^ould  swear  it  with  my  last  breath." 

"  I  don't  doubt  you,  my  boy,"  the  other  said  heart- 
ily. '*  We  owe  you  too  much  to  doubt  you.  She  shall 
not  be  bothered  more  than  can  be  helped.  But  she 
had  some  knowledge  of  that  blindness,  or  she  would 
not  have  acted  as  she  did  with  that  lamp.  I  tell  you 
candidly  she  will  have  to  make  a  statement." 

**  Have  no  doubt ;  she  will  explain." 

*'  Sure — ah  I  I  think  I  hear  the  wheels  of  the 
wagon."  Fyles  looked  round.  Then  he  settled  him- 
self down  again.  "Jake,"  he  went  on,  "was  smart- 
est of  us  all.  I  can't  believe  he  was  ever  told  of  his 
patron's  curious  blindness.  He  must  have  discovered 
it.  He  was  playing  a  big  game.  And  all  for  a  woman ! 
Well,  well." 

"  No  doubt  he  thought  she  was  worth  it,"  said  Tres- 
ler,  with  some  asperity. 

The  ofificer  smiled  at  the  tone.  "No  doubt,  no 
doubt.  Still,  he  wasn't  young.  He  fooled  you  when 
he  concurred  with  your  suspicions  of  Anton — that  is, 
he  knew  you  were  off  the  true  scent,  and  meant  keep- 
ing you  off  it.  I  can  understand,  too,  why  you  were 
sent  to  Willow  Bluff.  You  knew  too  much,  you  were 
too  inquiring.  Besides,  from  your  own  showing  to 
Jake — which  he  carried  on  to  the  blind  man  for  his 
ow^n  ends — you  wanted  too  much.  You  had  to  be  got 
rid  of,  as  others  have  been  got  rid  of  before.  Yes,  it 
was  all   very  clever.     And  he  never  spared  his  ow^n 


394  THE  NlGIiT-RIDKRS 

stock.  Robbed  himself  by  transferring  a  bunch  of 
steers  to  these  corrals,  and,  later  on,  I  suppose,  letting 
them  drift  back  to  his  own  pastures.  I  only  wonder 
why,  with  a  ranch  like  his,  he  ran  the  risk." 

''  Perhaps  it  was  old-time  associations.  He  was  a 
slave-trader  once,  and  no  doubt  he  stocked  his  ranch 
originally  by  raiding  the  Indians'  cattle.  Then,  when 
white  people  came  around,  and  the  Indians  disappeared, 
he  continued  his  depredations  on  less  open  lines." 

*'  Ah  !  slave-trader,  was  he  ?     Who  said  ? " 

"  Miss  Marbolt  innocently  told  me  he  once  traded  in 
the  Indies  in  *  black  ivory.'     She  did  not  understand." 

'*  Just  so — ah,  here  is  the  wagon." 

Fyles  rose  leisurely  to  his  feet.  And  Money  drove 
up. 

"The  best  of  news,  sheriff,"  the  latter  cried  at  once. 
"Captured  the  lot.  Some  of  the  boys  are  badly 
damaged,  but  we've  got  'em  all." 

"  Well,  we'll  get  back  with  this,"  the  officer  replied 
quietly. 

The  dead  man  was  lifted  into  the  wagon,  and,  in  a 
few  minutes,  the  little  party  was  on  its  way  back  to 
the  ranch. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    RETURN   TO    THE  LAND   OF  THE   PHILISTINES 

The  affairs  of  the  ranch  were  taken  in  hand  by  Fyles. 
Everything  was  temporarily  under  his  control,  and  an 
admirable  administrator  he  proved.  Nor  could  Tres- 
ler  help  thinking  how  much  better  he  seemed  suited  by 
such  pastoral  surroundings  than  by  the  atmosphere  of 
his  proper  calling.  But  this  appointment  only  lasted  a 
week.  Then  the  authorities  drafted  a  man  to  relieve 
him  for  the  more  urgent  business  of  the  investigation 
into  the  death  of  the  rancher  and  his  foreman,  and  the 
trial  of  the  half-breed  raiders  captured  at  Widow  Dang- 
ley's. 

Diane,  acting  on  Tresler's  advice,  had  taken  up  her 
abode  with  Mrs.  Doc.  Osier  in  Forks,  which  good, 
comfortable,  kind,  gossipy  old  woman  insisted  on  treat- 
ing her  as  a  bereaved  and  ailing  child,  who  must  be 
comforted  and  ministered  to,  and  incidentally  dosed 
with  tonics.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Diane,  though  greatly 
shocked  at  the  manner  and  conditions  of  her  father's 
death,  and  the  discovery  that  he  was  so  terrible  an 
outlaw,  was  suffering  in  no  sense  the  bereavement  of 
the  death  of  a  parent.  She  was  heartily  glad  to  get 
away  from  her  old  home,  that  had  held  so  much  un- 
happiness  and  misery  for  her.  Later  on,  when  Tresler 
sent  her  word  that  it  was  imperative  for  him  to  go  into 


396  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Whitewater  with  Fyies,  that  he  had  been  summoned 
there  as  a  witness,  she  was  still  more  glad  that  she  had 
left  it.  Thanks  to  the  influence  and  consideration  of 
Fyles,  she  had  been  spared  the  ordeal  of  the  trial  in 
Whitewater.  She  had  given  her  sworn  testimony  at 
tlte  preliminary  inquiry  on  the  ranch,  and  this  had  been 
put  in  as  evidence  at  the  higher  court. 

And  so  it  was  nearly  a  month  before  Tresler  was 
free  to  return  to  Forks.  And  during  that  time  he  had 
been  kept  very  busy.  What  with  the  ranch  affairs, 
and  matters  of  his  own  concerns,  he  had  no  time  for 
anything  but  brief  and  infrequent  little  notes  of  loving 
encouragement  to  the  waiting  girl.  But  these  mes- 
sages tended  otherwise  than  might  have  been  expected. 
The  sadness  that  had  so  long  been  almost  second  na- 
ture to  the  girl  steadily  deepened,  and  Mrs.  Osier,  ever 
kind  and  watchful  of  her  charge,  noticed  the  depression 
settling  on  her,  and  with  motherly  solicitude — she  had 
no  children  of  her  own — insisted  on  the  only  remedy 
she  understood — physic.  And  the  girl  submitted  to 
the  kindly  treatment,  knowing  well  enough  that  there 
was  no  physic  to  help  her  complaint.  She  knew  that, 
in  spite  of  his  tender  messages  and  assurances  of  af- 
fection, Tresler  could  never  be  anything  more  in  her 
life  than  he  was  at  present.  Even  in  death  her  father 
had  carried  out  his  threat.  She  could  never  marry. 
It  would  be  a  cruel  outrage  on  any  man.  She  told 
herself  that  no  self-respecting  man  would  ever  marry  a 
girl  with  such  a  past,  such  parentage. 

And  so  she  waited  for  her  lover's  return  to  tell  him. 
Once  she  thought  of  writing  it,  but  she  knew  Jack  too 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISTINES  397 

well.  He  would  only  come  down  to  Forks  post  haste, 
and  that  might  upset  his  plans  ;  and  she  had  no  desire 
to  cause  him  further  trouble.  She  would  tell  him  lier 
decision  when  he  had  leisure  to  come  to  her.  Then 
she  would  wait  for  the  government  orders  about  the 
ranch,  and,  if  she  were  allowed  to  keep  it,  she  would 
sell  the  land  as  soon  as  possible  and  leave  the  countr}^ 
forever.  She  felt  that  this  course  was  the  right  one  to 
pursue  ;  but  it  was  very,  very  hard,  and  no  measure  of 
tonics  could  dispel  the  deepening  shadows  which  the 
cruelty  of  her  lot  had  brought  to  her  young  face. 

It  was  w^onderful  the  kindness  and  sympathy  ex- 
tended to  her  in  that  rough  settlement.  There  was 
not  a  man  or  woman,  especially  the  men,  who  did  not 
do  all  in  his  or  her  power  to  make  her  forget  her  troub- 
les. No  one  ever  alluded  to  Mosquito  Bend  in  her 
presence,  and,  instead,  assumed  a  rough,  cheerful  jocu- 
larity, which  sat  as  awkwardly  on  the  majority  as  it 
well  could.  For  most  of  them  w^ere  illiterate,  hard-liv- 
ing folk,  rendered  desperately  serious  in  the  struggle 
for  existence. 

And  back  to  this  place  Tresler  came  one  day.  He 
was  a  very  different  man  now  from  what  he  had  been  on 
his  first  visit.  He  looked  about  him  as  he  crossed  the 
market-place.  Quickly  locating  Doc.  Osier's  little 
house,  he  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the  girl 
waiting  for  him  there.  But  he  kept  to  his  course  and 
rode  straight  on  to  Carney's  saloon.  Here,  as  before, 
he  dismounted.  But  he  needed  no  help  or  guide.  He 
straightw'ay  hooked  his  horse's  reins  over  the  tie-post 
and  walked  into  the  bar. 


393  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

The  first  man  to  greet  him  was  his  old  acquaintance 
Slum  Ranks.  The  little  man  looked  up  at  him  in  a 
speculative  manner,  slanting  his  eyes  at  him  in  a  way 
he  remembered  so  well.  There  was  no  change  in  the 
rascal's  appearance.  In  fact,  he  was  wearing  the  same 
clothes  Tresler  had  first  seen  him  in.  They  we^e  no 
cleaner  and  no  dirtier.  The  man  seemed  to  have  ut- 
terly stagnated  since  their  first  meeting,  just  as  every- 
thing else  in  the  saloon  seemed  to  have  stagnated. 
There  were  the  same  men  there — one  or  two  more  be- 
sides— the  same  reeking  atmosphere,  the  same  dingy 
hue  over  the  whole  interior.     Nothing  seemed  changed. 

Slum's  greeting  was  characteristic.  *'  Wal,  blind- 
hulks  has  passed — eh  ?  I  figgered  you  was  comin' 
out  on  top.  Guess  the  government' 11  treat  you  han'- 
some." 

The  butcher  guffawed  from  his  place  at  the  bar. 
Tresler  saw  that  he  was  still  standing  with  his  back  to 
it ;  his  hands  were  still  gripping  the  moulded  edge,  as 
though  he  had  never  changed  his  position  since  the 
first  time  he  had  seen  him.  Shaky,  the  carpenter, 
looked  up  from  the  little  side  table  at  which  he  was 
playing  "solitaire"  with  a  greasy  pack  of  cards  ;  his 
face  still  wore  the  puzzled  look  with  which  he  had  been 
contemplating  the  maze  of  spots  and  pictures  a  mo- 
ment before.  Those  others  who  were  new  to  him 
turned  on  him  curiously  as  they  heard  Slum's  greeting, 
and  Carney  paused  in  the  act  of  wiping  a  glass,  an  oc- 
cupation which  never  failed  him,  however  bad  trade 
might  be. 

Tresler  felt  that  something  was  due  to  those  who 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISiTNES  399 

could  display  so  much  interest  in  his  return,  so  he 
walked  to  the  bar  and  called  for  drinks.  Then  he 
turned  to  Slum. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "  Fm  going  to  take  up  my  abode 
here  for  a  week  or  two." 

''  I'm  real  glad,"  said  Ranks,  his  little  eyes  lighting 
up  at  the  prospect.  He  remembered  how  profitable 
this  man  had  proved  before.  "  The  missis'U  be  glad, 
too,"  he  added.  ''  I  'lows  she's  a  far-seein'  wummin. 
We  kep  a  best  room  fer  such  folk  as  you,  now.  A 
bran'  noo  iron  bed,  wi'  green  an'  red  stripes,  an'  a  wash- 
bowl goin'  with  it.  Say,  it's  a  real  dandy  layout,  an' 
on'y  three  dollars  a  week  wi'out  board.  Guess  I'll  git 
right  over  an'  tell  her  to  fix — eh  ?" 

Tresler  protested  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  his 
arm.  "  Don't  bother.  Carney,  here,  is  going  to  fix 
me  up  ;  aren't  you,  Carney?" 

**  That's  how,"  replied  the  saloon-keeper,  with  a  tri- 
umphant  grin  at  the  plausible  Slum. 

''Wal,  now.  You  plumb  rattle  me.  To  think  o' 
your  goin'  over  from  a  pal  like  that,"  said  Slum,  pro- 
testingly,  while  the  butcher  guffawed  and  stretched  his 
arms  further  along  the  bar. 

*'  Guess  he's  had  some,"  observed  the  carpenter, 
shuffling  his  cards  anew.  "  I  'lows  that  bed  has  bugs, 
an'  the  wash-bowel's  mostly  used  dippin'  out  swill,"  he 
finished  up  scornfully. 

Ranks  eyed  the  sad-faced  man  with  an  unfriendly 
look.  "  Guess  I  never  knew  you  but  what  you  was 
insultin',  Shaky,"  he  observed,  in  a  tone  of  pity. 
'*  Some  folks  is  like  that.     Guess  you  git  figgerin'  them 


400  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

cards  too  close.  You  never  was  bustin'  wi'  brains^ 
Say,  Carney,"  turning  back  to  the  bar  complainingly^ 
"  vvher's  them  durned  brandy  *  cocks '  Mr.  Treslei 
ordered  a  whiles  back  ?  You're  gettin'  most  like  a 
fun'ral  on  an  up-hill  trail.  Slow — eh  ?  Guess  if  we're 
to  be  pizened  I  sez  do  it  quick." 

'*^Comin'  along,  Slum,"  replied  Carney,  winking 
knowingly  to  let  Tresler  understand  that  the  man's  im- 
patience was  only  a  covering  for  his  discomfiture  at 
Shaky's  hands.  "I've  done  my  best  to  pizen  you  this 
ten  year.  Guess  Shaky's  still  pinin'  fer  the  job  o' 
naiiin'  a  few  planks  around  you.  Here  you  are.  More 
comin'." 

"  Who's  needin'  me  ?  "  asked  Shaky,  looking  up  from 
his  cards.  "Slum  Ranks?"  he  questioned,  pausing 
'•  Guess  I've  got  a  plank  or  two  fit  fer  him.  Red  pine. 
Burns  better." 

He  lit  his  pipe  with  great  display  and  sucked  at  it 
noisily.  Slum  lovvered  his  cocktail  and  turned  a  dis- 
gusted look  on  him. 

*'  Say,  go  easy  wi'  that  lucifer.  Don't  breathe  on  it, 
or  ther'  won't  be  no  need  fer  red  pine  fer  you." 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen,"  cried  Carney,  jocosely, 
"  the  present — kep  to  the  present.  Because  Slum,  here, 
runs  a — well,  a  boardin'  establishment,  ther'  ain't  no 
need  to  discuss  his  future  so  coarsely." 

"  Not  so  much  slack,  Carney,"  said  Slum,  a  little 
angrily.  "Guess  my  boardin'  emporium's  rilin'  you 
some.  You're  feelin'  a  hur'cane  ;  that's  wot  you're 
leelin',  I  guess.  Makes  you  sick  to  see  folks  gittin' 
v^alue  fer  their  dollars,  don't  it?" 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISTINES         401 

"  Good  fer  you,  good  fer  you,"  cried  the  butcher,  and 
subsided  with  a  loud  guffaw. 

The  unusual  burst  of  speech  from  this  man  caused 
general  surprise.  The  entire  company  paused  to 
stare  at  the  shining,  grinning  face. 

"  Sail  in.  Slum,"  said  a  lean  man  Tresler  had  heard 
addressed  as  *'  Sawny  "  Martin.  "  I  alius  sez  as  you've 
got  a  dead  eye  fer  the  tack-head  ev'ry  time.  But  go 
easy,  or  the  boss' 11  bar  you  on  the  slate." 

**  Don't  owe  him  nuthin',"  growled  Slum. 

"  Which  ain't  or'nary  in  this  company,"  observed  the 
smiling  Carney  ;  he  loved  to  get  Slum  angry.  '*  Say, 
Shaky,"  he  went  on,  "  how  do  Slum  fix  you  in  his — 
hotel?    You  don't  seem  bustin'  wi'  vittals.'^ 

'*  Might  do  wuss,"  responded  the  carpenter,  sorrow- 
fully. "  But,  y'  see,  I  stan'  in  wi'  Doc.  Osier,  an^  he 
physics  me  reg'lar." 

Everybody  laughed  with  the  butcher  this  time. 

"  Say,  you  gorl-durned  '  fun'ral  boards,'  you're  gittin' 
kind  o'  fresh,  but  I'd  bet  a  greenback  to  a  last  year's 
corn-shuck  you  don't  quit  ther'  an'  come  grazin'  around 
Carney's  pastures,  long  as  my  missis  does  thecookin'." 

*'  I  'lows  your  missis  ken  cook,"  said  Shaky,  with  en- 
thusiasm. **  The  feller  as  sez  she  can't  lies.  But  wi' 
her,  my  respec'  fer  your  hog-pen  ends.  I  guess  this 
argyment  is  closed  fer  va-cation.     Who's  fer  'draw'?" 

Slum  turned  back  to  the  bar.  *'  Here,  Carney,"  he 
said,  planking  out  a  ten-dollar  bill,  **  hand  over  chips 
to  that.  We're  losin'  blessed  hours  gassin'.  I'm  goin' 
fer  a  hand  at  *  draw.'  An'  say,  give  us  a  new  deck  o* 
cards.     Guess  them  o'   Shaky's  needs   curry-combin* 


402  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

some.  Mr.  Tresler,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  his  old 
boarder,  *'  mebbe  I  owe  you  some.  Have  you  a  no- 
tion ?  " 

'*  No  thanks,  Slum,"  replied  Tresler,  decidedly. 
'*rm  getting  an  old  hand  now." 

"Ah!" 

And  the  little  man  moved  off  with  a  thoughtful  smile 
on  his  rutted,  mahogany  features. 

Tresler  watched  these  men  take  their  seats  for  the 
game.  Their  recent  bickering  was  wholly  forgotten  in 
the  ruling  passion  for  *'  draw."  And  what  a  game  it 
was  \  Each  man,  ignorant,  uncultured  in  all  else,  was 
a  past  master  at  poker — an  artist.  The  baser  instincts 
of  the  game  appealed  to  the  uppermost  sides  of  their 
natures.  They  were  there  to  best  each  other  by  any 
manner  of  trickery.  Each  man  understood  that  his 
neighbor  was  doing  all  he  knew,  nor  did  he  resent  it. 
Only  would  he  resent  it  should  the  delinquent  be  found 
out.  Then  there  would  be  real  trouble.  But  they  were 
all  such  old-time  sinners.  They  had  been  doing  that 
sort  of  thing  for  years,  and  would  continue  to  do  it  for 
years  more.  It  was  the  method  of  their  lives,  and  Tres- 
ler had  no  opinion  on  the  right  or  wrong  of  it.  He  had 
no  right  to  judge  them,  and,  besides,  he  had  every  sym- 
pathy for  them  as  struggling  units  in  Life's  great  battle. 

But  presently  he  left  the  table,  for  Fyles  came  in,  and 
he  had  been  waiting  for  him.  But  the  sheriff  came  by 
himself,  and  Tresler  asked  him  the  reason. 

''  Well,  you  see.  Nelson  is  outside,  Tresler,"  the  burly 
man  said,  with  something  like  a  smile.  "  He  wouldn't 
come  in.     Shall  we  go  out  to  him  ?  " 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISTINES         403 

The  other  assented,  and  they  passed  out.  Joe  was 
sitting  on  his  buckskin  pony,  gazing  at  the  saloon  with 
an  inhnite  longing  in  his  old  eyes. 

'*  Why  are  you  sitting  there  ? "  Tresler  asked  at  once. 
Then  he  regretted  his  question. 

"  Wal,"  Joe  drawled,  without  the  least  hesitation, 
"  I'm  figgerin'  you  oughter  know  by  this  time.  Ther's 
things  born  to  live  on  liquid,  an'  they've  mostly  growed 
tails.  Guess  I  ain't  growed  that — yet.  Mebbe  Til  git 
down  at  Doc.  Osier's.  An'  I'll  git  on  agin  right  ther'," 
he  added,  as  an  afterthought. 

Joe  smiled  as  much  as  his  twisted  face  would  permit, 
but  Tresler  was  annoyed  with  himself  for  having  forced 
such  a  confession  from  him. 

**  Well,  I'm  sorry  I  suggested  it,  Joe,"  he  said 
quickly;  ''  as  you  say,  I  ought  to  have  known  better. 
Never  mind,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor." 

**  Name  it,  an'  I'll  do  it  if  I  bust." 

The  little  man  brightened  at  the  thought  of  this  man 
asking  a  favor  of  him. 

Tresler  didn't  respond  at  once.  He  didn't  want  to 
put  the  matter  too  bluntly.  He  didn't  want  to  let  Joe 
feel  that  he  regarded  him  as  a  subordinate. 

*'  Well,  you  see,  I'm  looking  for  some  one  of  good 
experience  to  give  me  eome  friendly  help.  You  see, 
I've  bought  a  nice  place,  and — well,  in  fact,  I'm  setting 
up  ranching  on  my  own,  and  I  want  you  to  come  and 
help  me  with  it.     That's  all." 

Joe  looked  out  over  the  market-place,  he  looked 
away  at  the  distant  hills,  his  eyes  turned  on  Doc. 
Osier's  house ;  he  cleared  his  throat  and  screwed  his 


404  THE  NIGIIT.RIDERS 

face  into  the  most  weird  shape.  His  eyes  sought  the 
door  of  the  saloon  and  finally  came  back  to  Tresler 
He  swallowed  two  or  three  times,  then  suddenly  thrust 
out  his  hand  as  though  he  were  going  to  strike  his 
benefactor. 

"  Shake,"  he  muttered  hoarsely. 

And  Tresler  gripped  the  proffered  hand,  **  And  per- 
haps you'll  have  that  flower-garden,  Joe,"  he  said, 
**  without  the  weeds." 

**  Mr.  Tresler,  sir,  shake  agin." 

**  Never  mind  the  *  mister '  or  the  *  sir,'  "  said  Tresler. 
"  We  are  old  friends.  Now,  Fyles,"  he  went  on,  turn- 
ing to  the  officer,  who  had  been  looking  on  an  inter- 
ested spectator,  *'  have  you  any  news  for  Miss  Mar- 
bolt?" 

"Yes,  the  decision's  made.  I've  got  the  document 
here  in  my  pocket." 

"  Good.  But  don't  tell  it  me.  Give  me  an  hour's 
start  of  you.  I'm  going  to  see  the  lady  myself.  And, 
Joe,"  Tresler  looked  up  into  the  old  man's  beaming 
face.  "Will  you  come  with  the  sheriff  when  he  inter- 
views— er — our  client  ?  " 

"  All  right.  Mis " 

"No." 

"Tresler,  si " 

"No." 

"All  right,  Tresler,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  strangely 
husky  voice. 

•5f  *  *  *  *  * 

Diane  was  confronting  her  lover  for  the  last  inter- 
view.    Mrs.   Osier  had  discreetly  left  them,  and  noxv 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISTINES  405 

they  were  sitting  in  the  diminutive  parlor,  the  man,  at 
the  girl's  expressed  wish,  sitting  as  far  from  her  as  the 
size  of  the  room  would  permit.  All  his  cheeriness  had 
deserted  him  and  a  decided  frowi.  marred  the  open 
frankness  of  his  face. 

Diane,  herself,  looked  a  little  older  than  when  we  saw 
her  last  at  the  ranch.  The  dark  shadows  round  her 
pretty  eyes  were  darker,  and  her  face  looked  thinner 
and  paler,  while  her  eyes  shone  with  a  feverish  bright- 
ness. 

"  You  overruled  my  decision  once,  Jack,"  she  was 
saying  in  a  low  tone  that  she  had  difficulty  in  keeping 
steady,  ''  but  this  time  it  must  not  be." 

"Well,  look  here,  Danny,  I  can  give  you  just  an 
hour  in  which  to  ease  your  mind,  but  I  tell  you  can- 
didly, after  that  you'll  have  to  say  *  yes,'  in  spite  of  all 
your  objections.  So  fire  away.  Here's  the  watch. 
I'm  going  to  time  you." 

Tresler  spoke  lightly  and  finished  up  with  a  laugh. 
But  he  didn't  feel  like  laughter.  This  objection  came 
as  a  shock  to  him.  He  had  pictured  such  a  different 
meeting. 

Diane  shook  her  head.  "  I  can  say  all  I  have  to  say 
in  less  time  than  that,  Jack.  Promise  me  that  you  will 
not  misunderstand  me.  You  know  my  heart,  dear.  It 
is  all  yours,  but,  but — Jack,  I  did  not  tell  all  I  knew  at 
the  inquest." 

She  paused,  but  Tresler  made  no  offer  to  help  her 
out.  "  I  knew  father  could  see  at  night.  He  was  what 
Mr.  Osier  calls  a— Nye— Nyctalops.  That's  it.  It's 
some  strange  disease  and  not  real  blindness  at  all,  as 


4o6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

far  as  I  can  make  out.  He  simply  couldn't  see  in  day- 
light because  there  was  something  about  his  eyes  which 
let  in  so  much  light,  that  all  sense  of  vision  was  para- 
lyzed, and  at  such  time  he  suffered  intense  pain.  But 
when  evening  came,  in  the  moonlight,  or  late  twilight ; 
in  fact  at  any  time  when  there  was  no  glare  of  light, 
just  a  soft  radiance,  he  could  not  only  see  but  was  pos- 
sessed of  peculiarl}^  acute  vision.  How  he  kept  his 
secret  for  so  many  years  I  don't  know.  I  understand 
why  he  did,  but,  even  now,  I  cannot  understand  what 
drove  him  to  commiit  the  dreadful  deeds  he  did,  so 
wealthy  and  all  as  he  was." 

Tresler  thought  he  could  guess  pretty  closely.  Bu^ 
he  waited  for  her  to  go  on. 

*'  Jack,  I  discovered  that  he  could  see  at  night  when 
you  w^ere  ill,  just  before  you  recovered  consciousness," 
she  went  on,  in  a  solemn,  awestruck  tone. 

-  Ah  ! " 

"  Yes,  while  you  were  lying  there  insensible  you 
narrowly  escaped  being  murdered." 

Again  she  paused,  and  shuddered  visibly. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  something.  His  conduct  when  you 
were  brought  in  warned  me.  He  seemed  to  resent 
your  existence  ;  he  certainly  resented  your  being  in  the 
house,  but  most  of  all  my  attendance  on  you.  I  was 
very  watchful,  but  the  strain  was  too  much,  and,  one 
night,  feeling  that  the  danger  of  sleep  for  me  was  very 
real,  I  barricaded  the  stairs.  I  did  my  utmost  to  keep 
awake,  but  foolishly  sat  down  on  my  own  bed  and  fell 
asleep.  Then  I  awoke  with  a  start ;  I  can't  say  what 
woke  me.     Anyway,  realizing  I  had  slept,  I  became 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISTINES  407 

alarmed  for  you.  I  picked  up  the  light  and  went  out 
into  the  hall,  where  I  found  my  barricade  removed " 

"  Yes,  and  your  father  at  my  bedside,  with  his  hands 
at  my  throat." 

"  Loosening  the  bandage." 

"To?" 

*'  To  open  the  wound  and  let  you  bleed  to  death." 

"  I  see.  Yes,  I  remember=  I  dreamt  the  whole  scene, 
except  the  bandage  business.     But  you " 

"  I  had  the  Hghted  lamp,  and  the  moment  its  light 
flashed  on  him  he  was  as — as  blind  as  a  bat.  His 
hands  moved  about  your  bandage  fumbling  and  un- 
certain. Yes,  he  was  blind  enough  then.  I  believe 
he  would  have  attacked  me,  only  I  threatened  him 
with  the  lamp,  and  with  calling  for  help." 

"  Brave  little  woman — yes,  I  remember  your  words. 
They  were  in  my  dream.  And  that's  how  you  knew 
what  to  do  later  on  when  Jake  and  he " 

The  girl  nodded. 

*'  So  Fyles  was  right,"  Tresler  went  on  musingly. 
*' You  did  know.'' 

"Was  I  wrong,  Jack,  in  not  telling  them  at  the  in- 
quest ?     You  see  he  is  dead,  and " 

"On  the  contrary,  you  were  right.  It  would  have 
done  no  manner  of  good.  You  might  have  told  me, 
though." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do,"  the  girl  said,  a 
Httle  helplessly.  "  You  see  I  never  thought  of  cattle- 
stealing.  It  never  entered  my  head  that  he  was,  or 
could  be.  Red  Mask.  I  only  looked  upon  it  as  a  vil- 
Vinous  attempt  on  your  life,  which  would  not  be  likely 


4o8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

to  occur  again,  and  which  it  would  serve  no  purpose 
to  tell  you  of.     Besides,  the  horror " 

'*  Yes,  I  see.  Perhaps  you  were  right.  It  would 
have  put  us  on  the  right  track  though,  as,  later  on,  the 
fight  with  Jake  and  your  action  with  regard  to  it  did. 
Never  mind ;  that's  over.  Julian  Marbolt  was  an  utter 
villain  from  the  start.  You  may  as  well  know  that  his 
trading  in  '  black  ivory '  was  another  name  for  skve- 
trading.  His  blindness  had  nothing  to  do  with  driving 
him  to  crime,  nor  had  your  mother's  doings.  He  was 
a  rogue  before.  His  blindness  only  enabled  him  to 
play  a  deeper  game,  which  was  a  matter  likely  to  ap- 
peal to  his  nature.  However,  nothing  can  be  altered 
by  discussing  him.  I  have  bought  a  ranch  adjoining 
Mosquito  Bend,  and  secured  Joe's  assistance  as  fore- 
man. I  have  given  out  contracts  for  rebuilding  the 
house ;  also,  I've  sent  orders  east  for  furnishings.  I 
am  going  to  buy  my  stock  at  the  fall  round-up.  All 
I  want  now  is  for  you  to  say  when  you  will  marry  me, 
sweetheart." 

"  But,  Jack,  you  don't  seem  to  understand.  I  can't 
marry  you.     Father  was  a — a  murderer." 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  was,  Danny.  It  doesn't  make 
the  least  difference  to  me.  I'm  not  marrying  your 
father." 

Diane  was  distressed.  The  lightness  of  his  treat- 
ment of  the  subject  bothered  her.  But  she  was  in 
deadly  earnest. 

*'  But,  Jack,  think  of  the  disgrace  !  Your  people  ! 
All  the  folk  about  here  ! " 

*' Now  don't  let  us   be   silly,   Danny,"  Tresler  said, 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISTINES         409 

coming  over  to  the  girl's  side  and  taking  possession  of 
her  forcibly.  In  spite  of  protest  his  arm  slipped  round 
her  waist,  and  he  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her 
tenderly.  "  My  people  are  not  marrying  you.  Nor 
are  the  folk — who,  by  the  way,  can't,  and  have  no 
desire  to  throw  stones — doing  so  either.  Now,  you 
saved  my  life  twice  ;  once  through  your  gentle  nursing, 
once  through  your  bravery.  And  I  tell  you  no  one 
has  the  right  to  save  life  and  then  proceed  to  do  all  in 
their  power  to  make  that  life  a  burden  to  the  miserable 
wretch  on  whom  they've  lavished  such  care.  That 
would  be  a  vile  and  unwomanly  action,  and  quite  for- 
eign to  your  gentle  heart.  Sweetheart,"  he  went  on, 
kissing  her  again,  "you  must  complete  the  good  work 
I  am  anything  but  well  yet.  In  fact  I  am  so  weak  that 
any  shock  might  cause  a  relapse.  In  short,  ther^  is 
only  one  thing,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  to  save  me  trom  a 
horrid  death — consumption  or  colic,  or  some  fell  dis- 
ease— and  that^s  marriage.     I  know  you  must  be  bored 

to  death  by No,"  as  the  girl  tried  to  stop  him, 

''  don't  interrupt,  you  must  know  all  the  fearsome  truth 
— a  sort  of  chronic  invalid,  but  if  you  don't  marry  me, 
well,  I'll  get  Joe  to  bury  me  somewhere  at  the  cross- 
roads. Look  at  all  the  money  I've  spent  in  getting 
our  home  together.     Think  of  it,  Danny ;  our  home  I 

And  old  Joe  to  help  us.     And " 

"  Oh,  stop,  stop,  or  you'll  make  me " 


'*  Marry  me.  Just  exactly  what  I  intend,  darling. 
Now,  seriously,  let's  forget  the  old  past ;  Jake,  your 
father,  Anton,  all  of  them — except  Arizona." 

Diane  nestled  closer  to  him  in  spite  of  her  protests 


410  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

There  was  something  so  strong,  reliant,  masterful  about 
her  Jack  that  made  him  irresistible  to  her.  She  knew 
she  was  wrong  in  allowing  herself  to  think  like  this  at 
such  a  moment,  but,  after  all,  she  was  a  weak,  loving 
woman,  fighting  in  what  she  conceived  to  be  the  cause 
of  right.  If  she  found  that  her  heart,  so  long  starved 
of  affection,  overcame  her  sense  of  duty,  was  there 
much  blame?  Tresler  felt  the  gentle  clinging  move- 
ment, and  pressed  her  for  her  answer  at  once. 

"  Time's  nearly  up,  dearest.  See  through  that  win- 
dow, Fyles  and  Joe  are  coming  over  to  you.  Is  it 
marry,  or  am  I  to  go  to  the  Arctic  regions  fishing  for 
polar  bears  without  an  overcoat  ?  I  don't  care  which  it  is 
— I  mean — no.    Yes,  quick !    They're  on  the  verandah.'^ 

The  girl  nodded.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  so  low  that  his 
face  came  in  contact  with  hers  in  his  effort  to  hear,  and 
stayed  there  until  the  burly  sheriff  knocked  at  the  door. 

He  entered,  followed  by  Joe.  Tresler  and  Diane  were 
standing  side  by  side.     He  was  still  holding  her  hand. 

**  Fyles,"  Tresler  said  at  once,  beaming  upon  both 
men,  'Met  me  present  you  to  the  future  Mrs.  John 
Tresler.  Joe,"  he  added,  turning  on  the  little  man 
who  was  twisting  his  slouch  hat  up  unmercifully  in  his 
nervous  hand,  and  grinning  ferociously,  **are  the  corrals 
prepared,  and  have  you  got  my  branding-irons  ready  ? 
You  see  I've  rounded  her  up." 

The  little  man  grinned  worse  than  ever,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  in  imminent  peril  of  extending  his  torn 
mouth  into  the  region  of  his  ear.  Diane  listened  to 
the  horrible  suggestion  without  misgiving,  merelv  re- 
marking in  true  wifely  iasnion— 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  PHILISTINES         411 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Jack ! " 

At  which  Fyles  smiled  with  appreciation.  Then  he 
coughed  to  bring  them  to  seriousness,  and  produced 
an  official  envelope  from  his  tunic  pocket. 

"  I've  just  brought  you  the  verdict  on  your  property, 
Miss  Marbolt,"  he  said  deliberately.  "  Shall  I  read  it 
to  you,  or  would  you ? " 

"  Never  mind  the  reading,"  said  Diane  impulsively. 
**  Tell  me  the  contents." 

"  Well,  I  confess  it's  better  so.  The  legal  terms  are 
confusing,"  said  the  officer  emphatically.  "You  can 
read  them  later.  I  don't  guess  the  government  could 
have  acted  better  by  you  than  they've  done.  The 
property," — he  was  careful  to  avoid  the  rancher's  name 
— "  the  property  is  to  remain  yours,  with  this  proviso. 
An  inquiry  has  been  arranged  for,  into  all  claims  for 
property  lost  during  the  last  ten  years  in  the  district. 
And  all  approved  claims  will  have  to  be  settled  out  of  the 
estate.  Five  years  is  the  time  allowed  for  all  such  claims 
to  be  put  forward.    After  that  everything  reverts  to  you." 

Diane  turned  to  her  lover  the  moment  the  officer  had 
finished  speaking. 

"  And,  Jack,  when  that  time  comes  we'll  sell  it  all  and 
give  the  money  to  charity,  and  just  live  on  in  our  own 
little  home." 

*•  Done ! "  exclaimed  Tresler.  And  seizing  her  in  his 
arms  he  picked  her  up  and  gave  her  a  resounding  kiss. 
The  action  caused  the  sheriff  to  cough  loudly,  while  Joe 
flung  his  hat  fiercely  to  the  ground,  and  in  a  voice  of 
n^ildest  excitement,  shouted  — 

"  Gee,  but  I  want  to  holler  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ARIZONA 

When  winter  comes  in  Canada  it  shuts  down  with 
no  uncertainty.  The  snow  settles  and  remains.  The 
sun  shines,  but  without  warmth.  The  still  air  bites 
through  any  clothing  but  furs,  moccasins,  or  felt-lined 
overshoes.  The  farmers  hug  the  shelter  of  their  houses, 
and  only  that  work  which  is  known  as  ''  doing  the 
chores"  receives  attention  when  once  winter  sets  its 
seal  upon  the  land.  Little  traffic  passes  over  the  drifted 
trails  now  ;  a  horseman  upon  a  social  visit  bent,  a  bob- 
sleigh loaded  with  cord-wood  for  the  wood-stoves  at 
home,  a  cutter,  drawn  by  a  rattling  team  of  young 
bronchos,  as  rancher  and  wife  seek  the  alluring  stores 
of  some  distant  city  to  make  their  household  purchases, 
even  an  occasional  "  jumper,"  one  of  those  low-buiit, 
red-painted,  one-horsed  sleighs,  which  resemble  noth- 
ing so  much  as  a  packing-case  with  a  pair  of  shafts  at- 
tached. But  these  are  all ;  for  work  has  practically 
ceased  in  the  agricultural  regions,  and  a  period  of  hiber- 
nation has  begun,  when,  like  the  dormouse,  rancher  and 
farmer  alike  pass  their  slack  time  in  repose  from  the 
arduous  labors  of  the  open  season. 

Even  the  most  brilliant  sunlight  cannot  cheer  the 
mournful  outlook  to  any  great  extent.     Out  on  the  Ed- 


ARIZONA  413 

monton  trail,  hundreds  of  miles  to  the  north  of  Forks, 
at  the  crossroads  where  the  Battule  trail  branches  to 
the  east,  the  cheerless  prospect  is  intensified  by  the 
skeleton  arms  of  a  snow-crowned  bluff.  The  shelter  of 
trees  is  no  longer  a  shelter  against  the  wind,  which  now 
comes  shrieking  through  the  leafless  branches  and 
drives  out  any  benighted  creature  foolish  enough  to 
seek  its  protection  against  the  winter  storm.  But  in 
winter  the  crossroads  are  usually  deserted. 

Contrary  to  custom,  however,  it  is  evident  that  a 
horseman  has  recently  visited  the  bluff.  For  there  are 
hoof-prints  on  one  of  the  crossing  trails ;  on  the  trail 
which  comes  from  somewhere  in  the  south.  The  marks 
are  sharp  indentations  and  look  fresh,  but  they  termi- 
nate as  the  crossing  is  reached.  Here  they  have  turned 
off  into  the  bush  and  are  lost  to  view.  The  matter  is 
somewhat  incomprehensible. 

But  there  is  something  still  more  incomprehensible 
about  the  desolate  place.  Just  beyond  where  the  hoof- 
prints  turn  off  a  lightning-stricken  pine  tree  stands 
alone,  bare  and  blackened  by  the  fiery  ordeal  through 
which  it  has  passed,  and,  resting  in  the  fork  of  one  of 
its  shriveled  branches,  about  the  height  of  a  horseman's 
head,  is  a  board — a  black  board,  black  as  is  the  tree- 
trunk  which  supports  it. 

As  we  draw  nearer  to  ascertain  the  object  of  so  strange 
a  phenomenon  on  a  prairie  trail  we  learn  that  some  one 
has  inscribed  a  message  to  those  who  may  arrive  at  the 
crossing.  A  message  of  strange  meaning  and  obscure. 
The  characters  are  laboriously  executed  in  chalk,  and 
nave  been  emphasized  with  repeated  markings  and  an 


414  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

attempt  at  block  capitals.  Also  there  is  a  hand  sketched 
roughly  upon  the  board,  with  an  outstretched  finger 
pointing  vaguely  somewhere  in  the  direction  of  the  trail 
which  leads  to  Battule. 

"  This  is  the  One- Way  Trail  ^^ 

We  read  this  and  glance  at  the  pointing  finger  which 
is  so  shaky  of  outline,  and  our  first  inclination  is  to 
laugh.  But  somehow  before  the  laugh  has  well  ma- 
tured it  dies  away,  leaving  behind  it  a  look  of  wonder  not 
unmixed  with  awe.  For  there  is  something  sinister  in 
the  message,  which,  though  we  do  not  understand  it, 
still  has  power  to  move  us.  If  we  are  prairie  folk  we 
shall  have  no  inclination  to  laugh  at  all.  Rather  shall 
we  frown  and  edge  away  from  the  ominous  black  board  ; 
and  it  is  more  than  probable  we  shall  avoid  the  trail 
indicated,  and  prefer  to  make  a  detour  if  our  destina- 
tion should  chance  to  be  Battule. 

Why  is  that  board  there  ?  Who  has  set  it  up  ?  And 
"  the  one-way  trail "  is  the  trail  over  which  there  is  no 
returning.     The  message  is  no  jest. 

The  coldly  gleaming  sun  has  set,  and  at  last  a  horse 
and  rider  enter  the  bluff.  They  turn  ofP  into  the  bush 
and  are  seen  no  more.  The  long  night  passes.  Dawn 
comes  again,  and,  as  the  daylight  broadens,  the  horse- 
man reappears  and  rides  ofi  down  the  trail.  At  even- 
ing he  returns  again  ;  disappears  into  the  bush  again  ; 
and,  with  daylight,  rides  off  again.  Day  after  day  this 
curious  coming  and  going  continues  without  any  ap- 
parent object,  unless  it  be  that  the  man  has  no  place 
but  the  skeleton  bush  in  which  to  rest.     And  with  each 


ARIZONA  415 

coming  and  going  the  man  rides  slower,  he  lounges 
wearily  in  his  saddle,  and  before  the  end  of  a  week 
looks  a  mere  spectre  of  the  man  who  first  rode  into  the 
blut^.  Starvation  is  in  the  emaciated  features,  the 
brilliant  feverish  eyes.  His  horse,  too,  appears  little 
better. 

At  length  one  evening  he  enters  the  bush,  and  the 
following  dawn  fails  to  witness  his  departure.  All  that 
day  there  is  the  faint  sound  of  a  horse  moving  about 
amongst  the  trees  with  that  limping  gait  which  denotes 
the  application  of  a  knee-halter.  But  the  man  makes 
no  sound. 

As  night  comes  on  a  solitar}^  figure  may  be  seen 
seated  on  a  horse  at  a  point  which  is  sheltered  from  the 
trail  by  a  screen  of  bushes.  The  man  sits  still,  silent, 
but  drooping.  His  tall  gaunt  frame  is  bent  almost 
double  over  the  horn  of  his  saddle  in  his  weakness. 
The  horse's  head  is  hanging  heavy  with  sleep,  but  the 
man's  great,  wild  eyes  are  wide  open  and  alight  with 
burning  eagerness.  The  horse  sleeps  and  frequently 
has  to  be  awakened  by  its  rider  as  it  stumbles  beneath 
its  burden  ;  but  the  man  is  as  wakeful  as  the  night-owl 
seeking  its  prey,  and  the  grim  set  of  his  wasted  face 
implies  a  purpose  no  less  ruthless. 

At  dawn  the  position  is  unchanged.  The  man  still 
droops  over  his  saddle-horn,  a  little  lower  perhaps,  but 
his  general  attitude  is  the  same.  As  the  daylight  shoots 
athwart  the  horizon  and  lightens  the  darkness  of  the 
bush  to  a  gray  twilight  the  horse  raises  his  head 
and  pricks  up  his  ears.  The  man's  eyes  glance  swiftly 
toward  the  south  and  his  alertness  is  intensified. 


4i6  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

Now  the  soft  rustle  of  flurrying  snow  becomes  audi- 
ble, and  the  muffled  pounding  of  a  horse's  hoofs  can  be 
heard  upon  the  trail.  The  look  that  leaps  into  the 
waiting  man's  eyes  tells  plainly  that  this  is  what  he  has 
so  patiently  awaited,  that  here,  at  last,  is  the  key  to  his 
lonely  vigil.  He  draws  his  horse  back  further  into  the 
bushes  and  his  hand  moves  swiftly  to  one  of  the  holsters 
upon  his  hips.  His  thin,  drawn  features  are  sternly  set, 
and  the  sunken  eyes  are  lit  with  a  deep,  hard  light. 

Daylight  broadens  and  reveals  the  barren  surround- 
ings ;  the  sound  draws  nearer.  The  silent  horseman 
grips  his  gun  and  lays  it  across  his  lap  with  his  forefin- 
ger ready  upon  the  trigger.  His  quick  ears  tell  him  that 
the  traveler  has  entered  the  bush  and  that  he  is  walk- 
ing his  horse.  The  time  seems  endless,  while  the  horse- 
man waits,  but  his  patience  is  not  exhausted  by  any 
means.  For  more  than  a  week,  subsisting  on  the 
barest  rations  which  an  empty  pocket  has  driven  him 
to  beg  in  that  bleak  country,  he  has  looked  for  this 
meeting. 

Now,  through  the  bushes,  he  sees  the  traveler  as  his 
horse  ambles  down  the  trail  toward  him.  It  is  a  slight 
fur-clad  figure  much  like  his  own,  but,  to  judge  by  the 
grim  smile  that  passes  across  his  gaunt  features,  one 
which  gives  the  waiting  man  eminent  satisfaction.  He 
notes  the  stranger's  alert  movements,  the  quick,  flashing 
black  eyes,  the  dark  features,  as  he  peers  from  side  to 
side  in  the  bush,  over  the  edge  of  the  down-turned 
storm-collar ;  the  legs  which  set  so  close  to  the  saddle, 
the  clumsily  mitted  hands.  Nor  does  he  fail  to  observe 
the  uneasy  looks  he  casts  about  him,  and  he  sees  that, 


ARIZONA  417 

in  spite  of  the  solitude,  the  man  is  fearful  or  his  sur- 
roLindings. 

The  stranger  draws  abreast  of  the  black  sign-board. 
His  sidelong  glances  cannot  miss  the  irregular,  chalked 
characters.  His  horse  comes  to  a  dead  stand  opposite 
them,  and  the  rider's  eyes  become  fixed  upon  the 
strange  message.  He  reads  ;  and  while  he  reads  his 
lips  move  like  one  who  spells  out  the  words  he  sees. 

"This  is  the  One- Way  Trail,"  he  reads.  And  then 
his  eyes  turn  in  the  direction  of  the  pointing  finger. 

He  looks  down  the  trail  which  leads  to  Battule, 
whither  the  finger  is  pointing,  and,  looking,  a  strange 
expression  creeps  over  his  dusky  features.  Instinc- 
tively, he  understands  that  the  warning  is  meant  for 
him.  And,  in  his  heart,  he  believes  that  death  for  him 
lies  somewhere  out  there.  And  yet  he  does  not  turn 
and  flee.     He  simply  sits  looking  and  thinking. 

Again,  as  if  fascinated,  his  eyes  wander  back  to  the 
legend  upon  the  board  and  he  reads  and  rereads  the 
message  it  conveys.  And  all  the  time  he  is  a  prey  to 
a  curious,  uncertain  feeling.  For  his  mind  goes  back 
over  many  scenes  that  do  him  little  credit.  Even  to  his 
callous  nature  there  is  something  strangely  prophetic 
in  that  message,  and  its  effect  he  cannot  shake  off. 
And  while  he  stares  his  dark  features  change  their  hue, 
and  he  passes  one  mitted  hand  across  his  forehead. 

There  is  a  sudden  crackling  of  breaking  brushwood 
within  a  few  yards  of  him ;  his  horse  bounds  to  one 
side  and  it  is  with  difficulty  he  retains  his  seat  in  the 
saddle ;  then  he  flashes  a  look  in  the  direction  whence 
the  noise  proceeds,  only  to  reel  back  as  though  to  ward 


4i8  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

off  a  blow.  He  is  looking  into  the  muzzle  of  a 
heavy  **  six  "  with  Arizona's  blazing  eyes  running  over 
the  sight. 

The  silence  of  the  bush  remained  unbroken  as  the 
two  men  looked  into  each  other's  faces.  The  gun  did 
not  belch  forth  its  death-dealing  pellet.  It  was  simply 
there,  leveled,  to  enforce  its  owner's  will.  Its  compel- 
ling presence  was  a  power  not  easily  to  be  defied  in  a 
country  where,  in  those  days,  the  surest  law  was  carried 
in  the  holster  on  the  hip.  The  man  recovered  and  sub- 
mitted. His  hands,  encased  in  mitts,  had  placed  him  at 
a  woeful  disadvantage. 

Arizona  saw  this  and  lowered  his  gun,  but  his  eyes 
never  lost  sight  of  the  fur-clad  hands  before  him.  He 
straightened  himself  up  in  the  saddle,  refusing  to  dis- 
play any  of  his  weakness  to  this  man. 

"  Guess  Fve  waited  fer  you,  '  Tough  '  McCulloch,  fer 
nigh  on  a  week,"  he  said  slowly,  in  a  thin,  strident 
voice.  "  I've  coaxed  you  some  too,  I  guess.  You  wus 
hidden  mighty  tight,  but  not  jest  tight  'nuff.  I  'lows  I 
located  you,  an'  I  wa'n't  goin'  to  lose  sight  o'  you. 
When  you  quit  Skitter  Bend,  like  the  whipped  cur  you 
wus,  I  wus  right  hot  on  your  trail.  An'  I  ain't  never 
left  it.  See  ?  Say,  in  all  the  hundreds  o'  miles  you've 
traveled  sence  you  quit  the  creek  ther'  ain't  bin  a  move 
as  you've  took  I  ain't  looked  on  at.  I've  trailed  you, 
headed  you,  bin  alongside  you,  an'  located  wher'  you 
wus  makin',  an'  come  along  an'  waited  on  you.  Ther's 
a  score  'tween  you  an'  me  as  wants  squarin'.  I'm 
right  here  fer  to  squar'  that  score." 

Arizona's  sombre  face  was  unrelieved  by  any  change 


ARIZONA  419 

of  expression  while  he  was  speaking.  There  was  no 
anger  in  his  tone  ;  just  cold,  calm  purpose,  and  some 
contempt.  And  whatever  feelings  the  half-breed  may 
have  had  he  seemed  incapable  of  showing  them,  except 
in  the  sickly  hue  of  his  face. 

The  fascination  of  the  message  on  the  board  still 
seemed  to  attract  him,  for,  without  heeding  the  other's 
words,  he  glanced  over  at  the  seared  tree-trunk  and 
nodded  at  it. 

'*  See.  Dat  ting.  It  your  work.  Hah  ?  " 
"  Yes ;  an'  I  take  it  the  meanin's  clear  to  you 
You've  struck  the  trail  we  all  stan'  on  some  time,  pardner, 
an'  that  trail  is  mostly  called  the  'One- Way  Trail.' 
It's  a  slick,  broad  trail,  an'  one  as  is  that  smooth  to  the 
foot  as  you're  like  to  find  anywheres.  It's  so  dead  easy 
you  can't  help  goin'  on,  an'  you  on'y  larn  its  cussed- 
ness  when  you  kind  o'  notion  gittin'  back.  I  'lows  as 
one  o'  them  glacier  things  on  top  o'  yonder  mountains 
is  li'ble  to  be  easier  climbin'  nor  turnin'  back  on  that 
trail.  The  bed  o'  that  trail  is  blood,  blood  that's  mosdy 
shed  in  crime,  an'  its  surface  is  dusted  wi'  all  manner  o* 
wrong  doin's  sech  as  you  an'  me's  bin  up  to.  Say,  it 
ain't  a  long  trail,  I'm  guessin',  neither.  It's  dead  short, 
in  fac'  the  end  comes  sudden-like,  an'  vi'lent.  But  I 
'lows  the  end  ain't  alius  jest  the  same.  Sometimes  y'U 
find  a  rope  hangin'  in  the  air.  Sometimes  thei's  a  knife 
jabbin'  around  ;  sometimes  ther's  a  gun  wi'  a  light  pull 
waitin'  handy,  same  as  mine.  But  I  figger  all  them 
things  mean  jest  'bout  the  same.  It's  death,  pardner  ; 
an'  it  ain't  easy  neither.  Say,  you  an'  me's  pretty 
nigh  that  end.     You  'special.     Guess  you're  goin'  to 


420  '  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

pass  over  fust.  Mebbe  I'll  pass  over  when  I'm  ready. 
It  ain't  jest  ne'sary  fer  the  likes  o'  us  to  yarn  Gospei 
wi'  one  another,  but  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  somethin'  as 
mebbe  you're  worritin'  over  jest  'bout  now.  It's  'bout 
a  feller's  gal — his  wife — which  the  same  that  feller  never 
did  you  no  harm.  But  fust  y'll  put  up  them  mitts  o' 
yours,  I  sees  as  they're  gettin'  oneasy,  worritin'  around 
as  though  they'd  a  notion  to  git  a  grip  on  suthin'." 

The  half-breed  made  no  attempt  to  obey,  but  stared 
coldly  into  the  lean  face  before  him. 

'*  Hands  up  1"  roared  Arizona,  with  such  a  dreadful 
change  of  tone  that  the  man's  hands  were  thrust  above 
his  head  as  though  a  shot  had  struck  him. 

Arizona  moved  over  to  him  and  removed  a  heavy 
pistol  from  the  man's  coat  pocket,  and  then,  having 
satisfied  himself  that  he  had  no  other  w^eapons  con- 
cealed about  him,  dropped  back  to  his  original  posi- 
tion. 

"  Ah,  I  wus  jest  sayin',  'bout  that  feller's  wife,"  he 
went  on  quietly.  *'  Say,  you  acted  the  skunk  t'ward 
that  feller.  An'  that  feller  wus  me.  I  don't  say  I  wus 
jest  a  daisy  husband  fer  that  gal,  but  that  wa'n't  your 
consarn.  Wot's  troublin'  wus  your  monkeyin'  around, 
waitin'  so  he's  out  o'  the  way  an'  then  vamoosin'  wi' 
the  wench  an'  all.  Guess  I'm  goin'  to  kill  you  fer  that 
sure.  But  ther'  ain't  none  o'  the  skunk  to  me.  I'm 
goin'  to  treat  you  as  you  wouldn't  treat  me  ef  I  wus 
settin'  wher'  you  are,  which  I  ain't.  You're  goin'  to 
hit  the  One- Way  Trail.  But  you  ken  hit  it  like  what 
you  ain't,  an'  that's  a  man." 

Arizona's  calm,  judicial  tone  goaded  his  hearer.     But 


ARIZONA  421 

**  Tough  "  McCulloch  was  not  the  man  i-o  shout.  His 
was  a  deadlier  composition  such  as  the  operj  American 
hated  and  despised,  and  hardly  understooo.  He  con- 
tented himself  with  a  cynical  remark  which  fired  the 
other's  volcanic  temper  so  that  he  could  scarcely  hold 
his  hand. 

"  Me  good  to  her,"  he  said,  with  a  shrug. 

**  You  wus  good  to  her,  wus  you  ?  You  who  knew 
her  man  wus  livin' !  You,  as  mebbe  has  ha'f  a  dozen 
wives  livin'.  You  wus  good  to  her !  Wal,  you're  goin' 
to  pay  now.  Savee  ?  You're  goin'  to  pay  fer  your 
flutter  wi'  chips,  chips  as  drip  wi'  blood — your  blood." 

The  half-breed  shrugged  again.  He  was  outwardly 
unconcerned,  but  inwardly  he  was  cursing  the  luck  that 
he  had  been  wearing  mitts  upon  his  hands  when  he 
entered  the  bluff.  He  watched  Arizona  as  he  climbed 
out  of  his  saddle.  He  beheld  the  signs  of  weakness 
which  the  other  could  no  longer  disguise,  but  they 
meant  nothing  to  him,  at  least,  nothing  that  could  serve 
him.  He  knew  he  must  wait  the  cowpuncher's  pleasure ; 
and  why?  The  ring  of  white  metal  which  marks  the 
muzzle  of  a  gun  has  the  power  to  hold  brave  man  and 
coward  alike.  He  dared  not  move,  and  he  was  wise 
enough  not  to  attempt  it. 

Arizona  drove  his  horse  off  into  the  bush,  and  stepped 
over  to  his  prisoner,  who  still  remained  mounted,  halt- 
ing abreast  of  the  man's  stirrup  and  a  few  yards  to  one 
side  of  it.  His  features  now  wore  the  shadow  of  a 
grim  smile  as  he  paused  and  looked  into  the  face  which 
displayed  so  much  assumed  unconcern. 

**  See  this  gun,"  he  said,  drawing  attention  to  the  one 


422  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

he  held  in  his  right  hand  ;  '*  it's  a  forty-fi',  an'  I'm  guess 
in'  it's  loaded  in  two  chambers."  Then  he  scraped  the 
snow  off  a  small  patch  of  the  road  with  his  foot.  "That 
gun  I  lay  right  here,"  he  went  on,  stooping  to  deposit 
it,  but  still  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  horseman. 
"Then  I  step  back,  so,"  moving  backward  with  long 
regular  strides,  "an'  I  reckon  I  count  fifteen  paces. 
Then  I  clear  another  space,"  he  added  grimly,  like  some 
fiendish  conjurer  describing  the  process  of  his  tricks, 
"  and  stand  ready.  Now,  *  Tough '  McCuUoch,  or 
Anton,  or  wotever  you  notion  best,  skunk  as  you  are, 
you're  goin'  to  die  decent.  You're  goin'  to  die  as  a 
gentleman  in  a  square  fought  duel.  You're  goin'  to  die 
in  a  slap-up  way  as  is  a  sight  too  good  fer  you,  but 
don't  go  fer  to  make  no  mistake — you're  goin'  to  die. 
Yes,  you're  goin'  to  get  off'n  that  plug  o'  yours  an' 
stand  on  that  patch,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  count  three,  nice 
an'  steady,  one— two — three  I  Just  so.  An'  then  we're 
goin'  to  grab  up  them  guns  an'  let  rip.  I  'lows  you'll 
fall  first  'cause  I'm  goin'  to  kill  you — sure.  Say,  you'll 
'blige  me  by  gittin'  off'n  that  plug." 

The  half-breed  made  no  move.  His  unconcern  was 
leaving  him  under  the  deliberate  purpose  of  this  man. 

"  Git  off  o'  that  plug ! "  Arizona  roared  out  his 
command  with  all  the  force  of  his  suppressed  passion. 

1  he  man  obeyed  instantly.  And  it  was  plain  now 
that  his  courage  was  deserting  him.  But  in  propor- 
tion his  cunning  rose.  He  made  a  pitiful  attempt  at 
swagger  as  he  walked  up  to  his  mark,  and  his  fierce 
eyes  watched  every  movement  of  his  opponent.  And 
Arizona's  evident  condition  of  starvation  struck  him 


ARIZONA  423 

forcibly,  and  the  realization  of  it  suggested  to  his 
scheming  brain  a  possible  means  of  escape. 

*'  You  mighty  fine  givin'  chances,  mister,"  he  said, 
between  his  teeth.  "  Maybe  you  sing  different  later. 
Bah  !  you  make  me  lafif.     Say,  I  ready." 

**  Yes,  git  right  ahead  an'  laf?,"  Arizona  replied  im- 
perturbably.  **  An'  meanvvhiles  while  you're  laffin',  I'll 
trouble  you  to  git  out  o'  that  sheep's  hide.  It  ain't  fit 
clothin'  fer  you  noways.  Howsum,  it  helps  to  thicken 
your  hide.     Take  it  off.'^ 

The  half-breed  obeyed  and  the  two  men  now  stood 
motionless.  Arizona  was  an  impressive  figure  in  that 
world  of  snow.  Never  before  had  his  personality  been 
so  marked.  It  may  have  been  the  purpose  that  moved 
him  that  raised  him  to  something  superior  to  the  lean, 
volcanic  cowboy  he  had  hitherto  been.  His  old 
slouching  gait,  in  spite  of  his  evident  weakness,  was 
quite  gone  ;  his  shaggy  head  was  held  erect,  and  he 
gazed  upon  his  enemy  with  eyes  which  the  other  could 
not  face.  For  the  time,  at  least,  the  indelible  stamp  of 
his  disastrous  life  was  disguised  by  the  fire  of  his  eyes 
and  the  set  of  his  features.  And  this  moral  strength 
he  conveyed  in  every  action  in  a  manner  which  no 
violence,  no  extent  of  vocabulary  could  have  done. 
This  man  before  him  had  robbed  him  of  the  woman  he 
had  loved.     He  should  die. 

His  pistol  was  still  in  his  hand. 

*•  When  I  say  -three,'  you'll  jest  grab  for  your  gun — 
an'  fire,"  he  said  solemnly. 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  and,  after  a  moment's 
pause,   slowly    stooped   to  deposit  his    weapon.     His 


424  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

great  roving  eyes  never  relaxed  their  vigilance,  and  all 
the  while  he  watched  the  man  before  him. 

Lower  he  bent,  and  the  pistol  touched  the  ground. 
He  straightened  up  swiftly  and  stood  ready. 

'*One!" 

The  half-breed  started  as  though  a  sharp  spasm  of 
pain  had  convulsed  his  body.  Then  he  stood  as  if 
about  to  spring. 

" Two  1 " 

McCulloch  moved  again.  He  stooped  with  almost 
incredible  swiftness  and  seized  his  gun,  and  the  next 
moment  two  loud  reports  rang  out,  and  he  threw  his 
smoking  weapon  upon  the  ground. 

Arizona  had  not  moved,  though  his  face  had  gone  a 
shade  paler.     He  knew  he  was  wounded. 

"Three!" 

The  American  bent  and  seized  his  gun  as  the  other 
made  a  dash  for  his  horse.  He  stood  up,  and  took 
deliberate  aim.  The  half-breed  was  in  the  act  of 
swinging  himself  into  his  saddle.  A  shot  rang  out, 
and  the  would-be  fugitive's  foot  fell  out  of  the  stirrup, 
and  his  knees  gave  under  him.  Another  shot  split  the 
air,  and,  without  so  much  as  a  groan,  the  man  fell  in  a 
heap  upon  the  ground,  while  a  thick  red  stream  flowed 
from  a  wound  at  his  left  temple. 

Then  silence  reigned  once  more. 

After  a  while  the  sound  of  a  slouching  gait  disturbed 
the  grim  peace  of  the  lonely  bluff.  Arizona  shuffled 
slowly  off  the  road.  He  reached  the  edge  of  the  bush  ; 
but  he  went  no  further.  For  he  reeled,  and  his  hands 
clasped  his  body  somewhere  about  his  chest.     His  eyes 


ARIZONA  425 

were  half  closed,  and  his  face  looked  ghastly  in  the 
wintry  light.  By  a  great  effort  he  steadied  himself 
and  abruptly  sat  down  in  the  snow.  He  was  just  off 
the  track  and  his  back  was  against  a  bush. 

Leaning  forward  he  drew  his  knees  up  and  clasped 
his  arms  about  them,  and  remained  rocking  himself 
slowly  to  and  fro.  And,  as  he  sat,  he  felt  something 
moist  and  warm  saturating  his  clothes  about  his  chest. 
Several  times  he  nodded  and  his  lips  moved,  and  his 
eyelids  fell  lower  and  lower  until  he  saw  nothing  of 
what  was  about  him.  He  knew  it  was  over  for  him 
and  he  was  satisfied. 

He  remained  for  some  time  in  this  attitude.  Once 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  round,  but,  somehow, 
he  drew  no  satisfaction  from  what  he  beheld.  The 
world  about  him  seemed  unsteady  and  strangely  dark. 
The  snow  was  no  longer  white,  but  had  turned  gray, 
and  momentarily  it  grew  darker.  He  thankfully  re- 
closed  his  eyes  and  continued  to  nurse  himself„  Now, 
too,  his  limbs  began  to  grow  cold,  and  to  feel  useless. 
He  had  difficulty  in  keepir^g  his  hands  fast  about  his 
knees,  but  he  felt  easy,  and  even  comfortable.  There 
was  something  soothing  to  him  in  tha^t  warm  tide 
which  he  felt  to  be  flowing  from  somewhere  about  his 
chest. 

The  minutes  slipped  away  and  the  man's  lips  con- 
tinued their  silent  movement.  Was  he  praying  for  the 
soul  which  he  knew  to  be  passing  from  his  body  ?  It 
may  have  been  so.  It  may  have  been  that  he  was 
praying  for  a  girl  and  a  man  whom  he  had  learned  to 
love  in  the  old  days  of  Mosquito  Bend,  and  whom  he 


426  THE  NIGHT-RIDERS 

was  leaving  behind  him.  This  latter  was  more  than 
likely,  for  his  was  not  a  selfish  nature. 

Again  his  eyes  opened,  and  now  they  were  quite  un- 
seeing ;  but  the  brain  behind  them  was  still  clear,  for 
words,  which  were  intelligible,  came  slowly  from  his 
ashen  lips. 

**  It's  over,  I  guess,"  he  muttered.  **  Maybe  life  ain't 
wi'out  gold  for  some.  I  'lows  I  ain't  jest  struck  color 
right.     Wal,  I'm  ready  for  the  reckonin'." 

His  hands  unclasped  and  his  legs  straightened  them- 
selves out.  Like  a  weary  man  seeking  repose  he 
turned  over  and  lay  with  his  face  buried  in  the  snow. 
Nor  did  he  move  again.  For  Arizona  had  ended  hif 
journey  over  the  One- Way  Trail. 


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In  Her  Ov/n  Right.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

initials  Only.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Inner  Law,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Innocent.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.     By  Sax  Roha  ^. 

In  the  Brooding  Wild.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum, 

Intrigues,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Iron  Trail,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Iron  Woman,  The.     By  Margaret  Deland- 

XshmaeL    (111.)    By  Mrs.  Southworth. 


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Island  of  Regeneration,  The.     By   Cyrus  Townsend   Brad}% 
Island  of  Surprise,  The.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Japonette.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Jean  of  the  Lazy  A.     By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Jennie  Gerhardt.     By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Joyful  Heatherby.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Jude  the  Obscure.    By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Judgment  House,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Keith  of  the  Border.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

King  Spruce.     By  Holman  Day. 

Kingdom  of  Earth,  The.    By  Anthony  Partridge. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Lady  and  the  Pirate,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Lady  Merton,  Colonist.     By  Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward. 

Landloper,  The.     By  Holman  Day. 

Land  of  Long  Ago,  The.    By  Eliza  Calvert  Hall, 

Last  Try,  The.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Last  Shot,  The.     By  Frederick  N.  Palmer. 

Last  Trail,  The.     By  Zane  Grey. 

Laughing  Cavalier,  The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Law  Breakers,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Lighted  Way,  The.    By  E.  PhiUips  Oppenheim. 

Lighting  Conductor  Discovers  America,  The.     By  C.  N.  & 

A.   N.   Williamson. 
Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare,  The.    By  Meredith  Nicholsor*. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Long  Roll,  The.    By  Mary  Johnson. 
Lonesome  Land.     By  B.  M.  Bower. 
Lord  Loveland   Discovers  America.     By   C.   N.  and  A.  M. 

WilHamson. 
Lost  Ambassador.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Prince,  The.    By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett, 
Lost  Road,  The.    By  Richard  Harding-  Davis. 
Love  Under  Fire.    By  Randall  Parrish. 


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Macaria.    (111.  Ed.)    B3'  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Maids  of  Paradise,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Maid  of  the  Forest,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills,  The.     By  Vingie  E.  Roe. 

Making-  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.    By  Randolph  Chester. 

Making  Money.  By  Owen  Johnson. 

Mam'  Linda.     By  V\'ill  N.  Harben. 

Man  Outside,  The.    By  Wvndham  Martyn. 

Man  Trail,  The.     By  Henry  Oyen. 

Marriage.     By  H.  G.  Wells. 

Marriage  of  Theodora,  The.    By  Mollie  Elliott  Seawell 

Mary  Moreland.     By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 

Master  Mummer,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Max.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Maxwell  Mystery,  The.    By  Caroline  Wells. 

Mediator,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Mischief  Maker,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Gibbie  Gault.    By  Kate  Langley  Bosher. 

Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown.    By  Florence  ATorse  Kingsley, 

Molly  McDonald.  By  Randall  Parrish. 

Money  Master,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon.  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Motor  Maid,  The.    By  C.  N  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Moth,  The.    By  William  Dana  Orcutt. 

Mountain  Girl,  The.     By  Payne  Erskine. 

Mr.  Bingle.     By  Georpfe  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.     By  E.  Phi^Hps  Oppenheim. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratt^s  Patients.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mrs.  Balfame.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Demon  Motor  Boat.    By  George  Fitch. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

My  Lady  Caprice.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

My  Lady  of  Doubt.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  North,    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  South.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Net,  The.    By  Rex  Beagh. 


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New  Clarion.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Night  Riders,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Night  Watches.    By  W.  W.  Jacobs. 
Nobody.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Once  Upon  a  Time.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
One  Braver  Thing.     By  Richard  Dehan. 
One  Way  Trail,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Otherwise  Phyllis.     By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

Pardners.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Parrott  &  Co.     By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Passionate  Friends,  The.    By  H.  G.  Wells. 

Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail,  The.     By  Ralph  Connor. 

Paul  Anthony,  Christian.    By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Perch  of  the  Devil.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Peter  Ruff.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

People's  Man,  A.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Phillip  Steele.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Pidgin  Island.     By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Place  of  Honeymoon,  The.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Plunderer,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Pole  Baker.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Pool  of  Flame,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Port  of  Adventure,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Postmaster,  The.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Power  and  the  Glory,  The.    By  Grace  McGowan  Cooke. 

Prairie  Wife,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Price  of  Love,  The.    By  Arnold  Bennett. 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Prince  of  Sinners.    By  A.  E,  PhiUips  Oppenheim. 

Princes  Passes,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Princess  Virginia,  The.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  N.  Williamson. 

Promise,  The.     By  J.  B.  Hendryx. 

Purple  Parasol,  The.    By  Geo.  B.  McCutcheon. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.     By  B.  M.  Bower. 
Ranching  for  Sylvia.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Real  Man,  The.     By  Francis  Lynde. 
Reason  Why,  The.    By  Elinor  Glyn. 


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Red  Cross  Girl,  The.    Bv  Richard  Harding  Davis. 

Red  Mist,  The.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Redemption  of  Kenneth  Gait,  The.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Red  Lane,  The.     By  Holman  Day. 

Red  Mouse.  The.    By  Wni.  Hamilton  Osborne. 

Red  Pepper  Burns.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Ketiirn  of  Tarzan,  The.     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Riddle  of  Night,  The.     By  Thomas  W.   Hanshew. 

Rim  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Ada  Woodruff  Anderson, 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    By  J.  C.  Lincoln. 

Road  to  Providence,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess 

Robinelta.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.     By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Rogue  by  Compulsion,  A.    By  Victor  Bridges. 

Rose  in  the  Ring-,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rose  of  the  World.     By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Rose  of  Old  Harpeth,  The.     By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Routledige  tvldes  Alone.     By  "Will  L.  Comfort. 

St.  Elmo.    (111.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Salamander,  The.    By  Owen  Johnson. 
Scientific  Sprague.    By  Francis  Lynde. 
Second  Violin,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Secret  of  the  Reef,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Secret  History.     By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Self-Raised.     (111.)     By  Mrs.  South  worth. 
Septimus.     By  William  J.  Locke. 
Set  in  Silver.    By  C  N.  and  A.  M.  WilHamson. 
Seven  Darlings,  The.     By  Gouverneur  Morris. 
Shea  of  the  Irish  Brigade.    By  Randall  Parrish. 
Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 
Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Sign  at  Six,  The.     By  Stev/art  Edw.  White. 
Silver  Horde,  The.      By   Rex   Beach. 
Simon  the  Jester.     By  William  J.  Locke. 
Siren  of  the  Snov^s,  A.     By  Stanley  Shaw. 
Sir  Richard  Calmady.     By  Lucas  Malet. 
Sixty-First  Second,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 
Slim  Princess,  The,    By  George  Ade. 


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